Hours later, I was back at my tiny apartment near base. The place was sterile, barely lived in, because I was rarely there long enough to make it feel like home. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. It was quiet, too quiet. I thought about calling one of the guys from my unit, but what was I supposed to say? Hey, you ever get called a stinking woman by your sister during a will reading? Yeah, that would go over well.
The next morning, my mom showed up at my door without warning. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept, but she still had that polished appearance. She always carried hair sprayed into place, neat pearl earrings. She walked in without waiting for me to invite her.
“Hannah,” she started, setting her purse on the table. “Megan feels terrible about what she said.”
I laughed.
“She feels terrible, or you feel terrible about how it looked in front of the family?”
Her lips pressed into a line.
“That’s not fair. She’s under stress. She’s handling the estate.”
“She inherited a penthouse. Mom, she’s not exactly living under a bridge.”
My mother sighed and sat down.
“You know what I mean. She has responsibilities. That condo isn’t just for her. It’s an investment, something she can manage for the family’s future.”
There it was again, the word family being thrown around like it only applied to Megan.
“And what about the cabin?” I asked.
She hesitated.
“It’s out of the way, difficult to maintain. Maybe it would make sense if Megan handled that too. She has connections with real estate companies. She could make it valuable. You have your career in the army. You don’t need to worry about property.”
I stared at her.
“So, let me get this straight. Dad left me something, and less than 24 hours later, you’re suggesting I hand it over to Megan.”
She folded her hands in her lap, avoiding my eyes.
“It would be simpler. She thinks of it as a family asset.”
I shook my head.
“No, she thinks of it as hers. And apparently, so do you.”
Her face hardened.
