I laughed.
“She feels terrible, or you feel terrible about how it looked in front of the family?”
Her lips pressed into a line.
“That’s not fair. She’s under stress. She’s handling the estate.”
“She inherited a penthouse. Mom, she’s not exactly living under a bridge.”
My mother sighed and sat down.
“You know what I mean. She has responsibilities. That condo isn’t just for her. It’s an investment, something she can manage for the family’s future.”
There it was again, the word family being thrown around like it only applied to Megan.
“And what about the cabin?” I asked.
She hesitated.
“It’s out of the way, difficult to maintain. Maybe it would make sense if Megan handled that too. She has connections with real estate companies. She could make it valuable. You have your career in the army. You don’t need to worry about property.”
I stared at her.
“So, let me get this straight. Dad left me something, and less than 24 hours later, you’re suggesting I hand it over to Megan.”
She folded her hands in her lap, avoiding my eyes.
“It would be simpler. She thinks of it as a family asset.”
I shook my head.
“No, she thinks of it as hers. And apparently, so do you.”
Her face hardened.
“Don’t talk to me like that, Hannah. I’m trying to keep this family together.”
I stood up, my voice steady.
“No, Mom. You’re trying to keep Megan happy. Big difference.”
She flinched like I’d slapped her. After a beat, she picked up her purse and stood.
“I won’t argue with you. Just think about it.”
When the door closed behind her, I sat down again, hands shaking with anger. I had faced down arrogant officers, corrupt contractors, even men pointing rifles at me, but nothing compared to the sting of being dismissed by your own mother.
The next week passed in a haze of work, training schedules, supply checks, endless meetings. The army had a way of swallowing up your time, leaving little room for personal battles. But no matter how busy I kept myself, the sting didn’t fade. Every night when the lights went out, I saw Megan’s smug face and heard her words.
Then one evening, I got a text from her.
Just checking in. How’s life in your shack?
I didn’t respond. I deleted it and tossed my phone across the couch. She wasn’t just rubbing salt in the wound. She was daring me to react.
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