By afternoon, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was Megan calling. Against my better judgment, I answered.
“Well,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “How’s our little shack treating you? Drafty, falling apart?”
“It’s fine,” I said flatly.
She gave a mocking laugh.
“Of course it’s fine for you. Fits you perfectly, isolated, simple, nothing special.”
I gripped the phone tighter.
“Megan, what do you want?”
“I was just thinking,” she said casually. “Mom and I could help you manage the property. You don’t have time for this. With your deployments and all, it would make sense for me to handle it. You’d still get visits, of course. Holidays, maybe. Doesn’t that sound easier?”
I let silence hang for a beat.
“No. Dad left it to me. I’ll handle it.”
Her tone sharpened.
“Don’t be difficult, Hannah. You know you’re not cut out for this kind of thing.”
I hung up before she could finish. My pulse was pounding, but deep down I felt something new: resolve.
