“My children never asked about my past, nor did they care to stay when I had nothing to offer them. But you, Mabel—you held my hand when I was frightened. You wiped my tears when I missed my home. You loved me not as an obligation, but as a daughter.”
“The key in your hand belongs to Box 412. The property is yours, legally transferred to a private trust in your name. Do not let them take from you what you earned with your pure heart.”
Tears blurred my vision, dripping onto the yellowed paper.
She hadn’t been confused in her final moments. She hadn’t been giving me a worthless piece of junk. Fiona had spent twelve years watching her own children abandon her, while quietly ensuring that the only person who treated her with dignity would be protected for the rest of her life.
PART 3
The following morning, the atmosphere in our house was tense.
