Rebecca looked from her daughter to me.
“So you admit we’re beneficiaries.”
“Daniela is.
You aren’t.”
Rebecca’s face changed again.
“You poisoned her against me.”
I opened the folder containing the will.
“The lawyer anticipated you would say that.”
I showed them the attached documentation.
There were dates of independent meetings.
Medical assessments.
Witness statements.
A written declaration from Mom explaining exactly why she had changed the distribution.
I didn’t read every page aloud.
I didn’t need to.
The structure was obvious.
Mom had expected a challenge.
She had prepared for it.
Rebecca grabbed her purse.
“I’ll get my own lawyer.”
“You can.”
“I will contest everything.”
“You can do that too.”
She blinked.
My calmness bothered her more than anger would have.
“You think you’ve won because you have paperwork?”
“No,” I said.
“I think Mom finally made a decision without asking either of us for permission.”
That silenced her for a moment.
Then Daniela asked the question none of us expected.
“Mom, why didn’t you go to the funeral?”
Rebecca turned toward her.
“You know why.
I had things to manage after the shower.”
“The shower was over.”
“I was exhausted.”
“Grandma died.”
Rebecca’s expression sharpened.
“Don’t start judging me because Clara has turned this into some courtroom drama.”
Daniela looked at the photograph again.
“Did Grandma ask for you at the hospital?”
Rebecca said nothing.
I did.
“Until the end.”
Daniela’s eyes filled.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
She sat down in Mom’s chair.
For the first time since arriving, she stopped talking about her wedding.
My brother-in-law placed the police report on the table.
“Rebecca,” he said, “you told me Clara was handling everything because your mother preferred her.
You told me she didn’t want us around.”
Rebecca whipped toward him.
“That’s what she said.”
“No,” I answered.
“Mom asked me constantly when you were coming.”
