I thought my father’s will would secure my future. Then the lawyer read a name I didn’t recognize. My grandmother’s fury was immediate. Who was Brenna, and why did my father leave her everything? And what secret was behind it?
Growing up, my life had always been about rules. Every morning, a strict voice echoed through our grand house, sharp as the heels that clicked against the polished floors.
“Sit up straight, Mona. Don’t slouch. A lady always keeps her composure.”
That was Loretta—my grandmother, my guardian, my shadow. After my mother died, she took over, raising me in her grand image. Every detail of my existence had to be perfect—my grades, my posture, even the way I folded napkins at dinner. It was suffocating, but I tried. I always tried.
When my father passed away, I braced myself for grief, but instead, Loretta turned her focus to what mattered most to her. Control.
“You’ll invest the money wisely, Mona,” she said, sitting across from me in our breakfast room, sunlight bouncing off the pristine china. “Your father worked hard for this. We’ll rebuild our legacy.”
I nodded, believing her. Loretta’s confidence was unshakable, her plans always absolute. That belief carried me into the lawyer’s office on the day that changed my life.
We sat in stiff leather chairs, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and paper. The lawyer adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.
“As per your father’s wishes,” he began, scanning the will, “his estate and finances will go to Brenna.”
A silence fell over the room, a heavy, suffocating thing. My stomach twisted.
“Who?” The word escaped my lips before I could stop it.
The lawyer looked up. “Brenna is your father’s other daughter.”
My breath hitched. “Sister? I… I have a sister?”
“Impossible!” Loretta’s voice sliced through the room like a blade. “This must be a mistake! My son would never leave everything to some… stranger!”
“It’s no mistake, ma’am,” the lawyer said evenly. “His instructions were clear. Brenna inherits the house, accounts, and stocks.”
“What?” Loretta’s voice rose, shrill and panicked. “You’re telling me that child, someone we don’t even know, takes it all?”
I barely heard them. A sister. A sister I never knew existed. Loretta grabbed my hand, her grip ice-cold.
“We’ll fix this, Mona,” she whispered. “We’ll find this Brenna and make sure she does what’s right.”
Her words felt suffocating, but I nodded. I had never defied Loretta before.
Days later, I arrived at Brenna’s house, a small, leaning thing with peeling paint flaking like sunburned skin. The front door creaked open before I even knocked, and there she stood. My sister.
She had a wide, almost childlike smile, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, fingers twisting together in a rhythm that seemed more instinct than thought.
“Hi!” she said brightly. “I saw you coming. Did you park by the mailbox? It’s wobbly. I keep meaning to fix it, but…” She trailed off, her eyes darting to the doorframe. She tapped it three times.
“Uh, yeah,” I replied. “I’m Mona. Your sister.”
Her smile widened. “Come in!” She stepped aside. “Watch the floorboard near the kitchen. It squeaks.”
Inside, the house smelled faintly of clay and earth. The kitchen was dominated by a long workbench covered in half-finished pottery, jars of paint, and tools I didn’t recognize. Brenna rearranged a set of mismatched vases three times before nodding in satisfaction.
Then she turned back to me. “You’re my sister.”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “Our father… He passed away recently.”
Her smile didn’t falter. “What’s it like? Having a dad?”
I hesitated. “It’s… hard to say. He was kind. He cared. We were friends.”
She nodded, pressing clay-stained fingers to her thighs. “I never met him. But I have his hands.” She held up her palms, showing faint traces of dried clay. “Mom always said so.”
Her sincerity was disarming. I’d expected resentment. Instead, she radiated quiet acceptance.
“Dad left me a gift,” she said.
“A gift?” I echoed.
“Yes. That’s what he called it in the letter from the lawyer. Did he leave you a gift too?”
My throat tightened. “Not really.”
She frowned. “That’s strange. Everyone should get a gift.”
I forced a smile. “Maybe.”
“You should stay for a week,” Brenna said suddenly. “Tell me about him. What he was like. What he liked to eat. What his voice sounded like.”
“A week?” I asked, startled.
She nodded. “In return, I’ll share the gift. It’s only fair.”
I hesitated. “Okay. A week.”
Her face lit up. “Good. We can have pancakes.”
That week was unlike anything I had known. Life with Brenna was slow and intentional. Breakfasts were eaten on paper plates, “to save time for pottery,” as she put it.
Each morning, we walked to the lake, our bare feet sinking into dew-kissed grass. Brenna rearranged stones along the path, muttering numbers under her breath, her fingers twitching.
“You ever just sit and listen?” she asked one morning.
“To what?”
“Everything.”
Brenna’s world was one of quiet rituals and unspoken truths. It was peaceful. It was real.
But Loretta wasn’t done with me yet.
Her calls were relentless. “She doesn’t know what to do with that kind of money,” she snapped. “Convince her to sign it over.”
I gripped the phone. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“It’s exactly that simple,” she barked. “Focus, Mona.”
But for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure I wanted to listen.
When Loretta stormed into Brenna’s house days later, spitting venom, something inside me broke. Brenna flinched under her words, her fingers twisting desperately.
“Dad left a gift,” she said softly.
“And I won’t let you take it from her,” I said.
That was the day I chose my sister. The day we began again.
We built a life. We painted, sculpted, and let ourselves be happy. And for the first time, I wasn’t living for someone else.
I was living for us.
