“You brought your mistress to my sister’s funeral,” I said. “You meant every part of this.”
Months later, the trust was finalized. There was no child to inherit it. Everything passed to me, just as Lily planned.
I moved into her house. I repainted the stairwell. I filled it with light. I turned the nursery into a space where women could come and be believed.
Some nights, I sit at the kitchen table with Lily’s letter spread in front of me.
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