When her mother left her nothing but a lopsided cabin in the woods while her sister inherited a three-story Victorian mansion, Anna Miller just smiled. Her sister, Sarah, laughed out loud right there in the lawyer’s office. But what Anna discovered a year later would overturn everything they thought they knew about their family.
It all began on a cold October morning, under a gray, drizzling sky.
Eleanor Miller passed away quietly in her sleep at sixty-three. Her heart simply stopped, like an old clock that had finally run out of gears.
The funeral was a modest affair: twenty people gathered at the graveside. The two daughters stood side by side, yet a cold, invisible chasm stretched between them—the result of forty years of misunderstanding.
Anna held a simple bouquet of daisies. They were plain and white, the kind her mother always loved. She wore a black wool coat she’d owned for a decade. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, her face free of makeup. She didn’t sob; she just watched the casket, her lips moving in a silent prayer.
Sarah arrived in a black Range Rover. She stepped out in a designer suit, her stilettos immediately sinking into the soft, muddy earth. she winced but kept her composure. She carried a massive wreath of deep red roses—expensive, ornate, and entirely out of place.
Sarah stood tall, chin up, eyes dry. She never cried in public; she considered it a sign of weakness.
As the casket was lowered, Anna dropped her daisies first. They landed softly on the wood. Sarah followed with her roses. The heavy wreath hit with a thud, scattering a few petals into the dirt.
“Rest well, Mom,” Anna whispered, so softly no one else heard.
Sarah said nothing. She turned and walked back to her car, her heels clicking on the paved path. She stopped at the gate and looked back.
“The attorney is expecting us in an hour. Downtown. You coming?” her voice was flat and businesslike.
Anna nodded.
“I’ll be there,” she replied quietly.
They drove separately. Anna in her aging Ford sedan that rattled at every stoplight, and Sarah in her luxury SUV, which overtook her sister before they even cleared the cemetery gates.
The attorney’s office was on the fifth floor of a glass-and-steel building downtown. It smelled of expensive leather and old paper. A man in his fifties sat behind a mahogany desk, a thick file open before him.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the two chairs. “Anna Miller and Sarah Miller, correct?”
“Yes,” Anna nodded.
“That’s us,” Sarah said, crossing her legs and leaning back.
The attorney opened the file and cleared his throat.
“The Last Will and Testament of Eleanor M. Miller. Executed March 15, 2023. Witnessed and notarized.”
He looked up at the sisters over his spectacles…
Comments are closed.