I stared at the folder on the desk where my father’s signature sat at the bottom of the page, written in the same steady handwriting he used his entire life. “It is not really about the money,” I said after a moment, although part of me knew that statement was not completely true. “It is about how she turns everything into a hostage situation.”
Later that afternoon I saw Olivia sitting in her silver luxury car outside the office while speaking angrily on the phone, and I did not need to hear the conversation to know she was calling our mother to complain about me.
By the time I arrived home that evening my phone had already begun vibrating constantly on the kitchen counter.
When I finally answered, Mom’s voice sounded tight and strained. “Olivia is devastated right now.”
“It was Dad’s decision,” I replied calmly.
“She is under enormous pressure because of the wedding,” Mom continued as if I had not spoken at all. “You know how important that day is for her.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter and stared out the window. “Mom, she wants to spend more than the entire estate on one day.”
“She wants something special,” Mom insisted.
“So did Dad,” I answered softly, feeling my throat tighten unexpectedly. “He wanted fairness.”
There was a pause on the line before Mom finally spoke again with frustration. “You could be generous, you know. You have your job and you are stable.”
My parents believed I worked in harmless hospital administration doing paperwork and scheduling meetings, which was a misconception I had never bothered correcting because it made family dinners easier.
“The will is clear,” I said quietly. “It is equal.”
Mom’s patience snapped. “You are being selfish.”
She hung up before I could respond.
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