“To Sarah Miller, I bequeath the residential property located at 12 Garden Lane, including the three-story house, all outbuildings, and the surrounding half-acre lot. This includes all personal property within the home and the savings account ending in…”
Anna listened, her expression unchanged. Sarah allowed a small, triumphant smile to touch her lips. That Victorian house had been her dream since she was a girl. Her mother had always hinted it would be hers one day.
“To Anna Miller,” the attorney continued, “I bequeath the property located in Pine Ridge, 7 Forest Road, including the cabin and the surrounding five acres of woodland.”
Sarah snorted. She tried to cover her mouth, but a sharp laugh escaped anyway.
“The Pine Ridge shack?” she asked, incredulous. “That old dump?”
The attorney pressed his lips together and continued reading, ignoring the outburst.
“All personal property within the cabin goes to Anna. There is a note from the deceased: ‘I leave Sarah the house because she always dreamed of something grand and beautiful. I leave Anna the cabin because she appreciates the quiet of the woods. I hope, my girls, you understand my choice. Love, Mom.’”
Silence followed. Sarah looked at Anna, a smirk playing on her lips.
“Well,” she drawled slowly, “Mom always knew who belonged where. Honestly, Anna, it’s more than you deserve. A shack in the middle of nowhere. Have you even seen it since the fire?”
“What fire?” the attorney asked, frowning.
“A chimney fire about twenty years ago,” Sarah waved a hand dismissively. “Mom never really fixed it up. She always said she’d get to it ‘someday.’ Well, I guess ‘someday’ is finally here for you.”
She laughed again, a harsh, jagged sound. The attorney looked uncomfortable. Anna sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap. Her face was calm.
“I’ll sign whatever is necessary,” Anna said evenly.
Sarah stopped laughing and studied her sister suspiciously.
“You’re really not upset?” she asked, squinting.
Anna met her gaze. Her brown eyes were warm, just like their mother’s.
“Mom always had a reason for what she did,” she said softly. “I trusted her then, and I trust her now.”
Sarah made a face, as if she’d tasted something bitter.
“You were always the weird one,” she muttered, turning away.
The attorney handed over the documents. Both sisters signed. They were handed their keys. Sarah received a heavy ring with five keys and a designer fob. Anna received a single, tarnished brass key on a piece of twine.
They walked out in silence. At the sidewalk, Sarah stopped and turned.
“Look, don’t come asking me for help when the roof caves in. I got my share, you got yours. We’re even,” she said, her tone sharp.
“I understand,” Anna nodded.
Sarah climbed into her car and slammed the door. A moment later, the SUV roared away. Anna stood on the sidewalk, clutching the old key. For a second, a memory washed over her.
She was seven years old, sitting at the kitchen table doing homework. Her mom was at the stove, stirring a pot of soup. Sarah, the older, prettier sister, had burst in wearing a new dress, bragging about a boy at school. Her mother had smiled and patted Sarah’s head. But then she had walked over to Anna, sat down, and kissed the top of her head. “You’re my heart, Anna,” she had whispered so only Anna could hear. “My greatest joy.”
Anna blinked, returning to the present. She smiled through a sudden prickle of tears. She got into her old Ford, started the engine on the third try, and drove home to pack. She didn’t feel cheated. She felt a strange sense of peace—a deep, unconditional trust that only exists between a mother and daughter, even when the daughter doesn’t yet know the secret of her own life.
Pine Ridge was a two-hour drive from the city. The road wound through the mountains: first asphalt, then gravel, and the last few miles were just a dirt track through the hemlocks. Anna drove slowly, her car groaning over the ruts.
It was mid-October. The forest was a riot of orange and gold, smelling of pine needles and damp earth. Anna rolled down her window to breathe it in. This was the smell of her childhood. She and her mother used to come here to pick blackberries. Her mother had taught her how to track deer and which herbs could soothe a bee sting.
The “town” was just a handful of houses along a single road, most of them boarded up. Life had moved on from Pine Ridge years ago.
Anna stopped at a weathered sign: “Forest Road.” She turned right, passed three empty lots, and finally saw it.
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