‘She didn’t.’
Yvonne turned on me.
‘You weren’t part of every conversation.’
‘Neither were you.
You visited twice.’
Her expression hardened.
Mr.
Alden tapped the open will.
‘I am going to finish the sentence that was interrupted.’
Yvonne opened her mouth, but he continued.
‘And to my daughter, I leave my residence, including the land, structures, furnishings, and all personal effects not otherwise specifically bequeathed.’
The words did not feel triumphant.
They landed heavily, like stones placed one by one into my hands.
The staircase Mom had painted herself was mine.
The kitchen where she taught me to make dumplings was mine.
The radiator where our wet funeral coats had dried was mine.
The bedroom Yvonne had forced me to leave belonged to me.
Stefan stood so abruptly that his chair tipped backward.
‘The entire house?’
Mr.
Alden nodded.
‘The entire house.’
‘But why?’
Yvonne made a sharp sound.
‘Because she manipulated your mother.’
I did not answer her.
Mr.
Alden did.
‘Helena anticipated that accusation.’
He removed a sealed letter from the folder.
My mother’s handwriting crossed the front in a trembling line.
‘She asked me to read this aloud.’
Yvonne pushed back from the table.
‘I am not sitting through some attack written by a woman who didn’t know what she was saying.’
Stefan’s head snapped toward her.
‘Sit down.’
It was the first time that morning he had spoken to her without fear or apology.
Yvonne stared at him.
Then she sat.
Mr.
Alden unfolded the letter.
‘My children,’ he read, ‘I have divided what I own according to need, sacrifice, and responsibility.
I have not divided it according to who complained most loudly or who assumed the most.’
My throat tightened.
‘My son will receive the listed financial accounts, my vehicle, and the bond established for my grandson.
My daughter will receive my home.
She gave up six months of work, sleep, and ordinary life to care for me here.
More importantly, she made this house a home when illness made it feel like a prison.’
Stefan closed his eyes.
Mr.
Alden continued.
‘This is not punishment.
It is not a contest between my children.
It is recognition of what each of them carried and what each of them refused to carry.’
Yvonne let out a bitter laugh.
‘How convenient.’
