During the reading of the will, my parents bestowed $10 million upon my sister, Vanessa, while sharply instructing me to “make my own way.” Moments later, Grandpa’s lawyer rose to reveal a hidden message crafted solely for me, prompting my mother to unleash a piercing scream…

At the will reading, my parents smiled as the lawyer handed Vanessa a check for $10 million. Then they turned to me and said, Go earn your own. I didn’t cry.

I didn’t flinch. I just stared at the polished table, pretending my pulse wasn’t thudding in my ears. Then… something shifted.

An older man in a grey suit stood up. There’s one more document, he said, unfolding a worn envelope with my grandfather’s handwriting on it. My mother’s smile faded.

My father’s fingers twitched. Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. That envelope changed everything.

It was the beginning of a storm that would tear through every carefully constructed lie they’d built, and it started in a place I hadn’t seen in over a year, my grandfather’s ranch on the outskirts of Charleston, where the wind once sounded like safety and now carried the weight of secrets. I hadn’t been back to the ranch since the spring before my grandfather passed. It was strange how something so familiar could feel so foreign.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I stepped out of the car, and the wind chimes on the porch once the soundtrack of summer afternoons and sun tea brewing on the windowsill now sounded hollow, echoes of something lost. I hesitated before knocking. The white paint on the door had chipped, same as always.

The magnolia tree still leaned a little too far east, but I didn’t feel welcome. When the door creaked open, I half expected silence. Instead, I got.

So, you finally decided to show up. My grandmother’s voice hadn’t changed, still sharp enough to cut glass. Her arms were crossed, her jaw set like stone.

I stood frozen, trying to find something, anything in her face. Warmth, relief, confusion. But there was only cold.

Grandma, what’s going on? I asked, stepping closer. They told me you were too busy, that you didn’t want to be bothered, that you had a new life. Her voice wavered, then hardened again.

Your grandfather called for you, Claire. Every day, on his deathbed, he asked for you. I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

That’s not true. I tried to call, I came by in March. Vanessa was here.

She said no one was home. Grandma’s eyes narrowed. We were here.

We were always here. There was a long, painful pause. Then, she turned and disappeared into the house without a word.

I followed her in, the air thicker inside, like the walls were holding their breath. She came back, holding a worn leather notepad. This is the number he kept calling, she said, handing it to me.

I recognized his handwriting instantly, blocky and neat, with just a hint of slant. But the number on the page? Not mine. Grandma! This isn’t my number.

Not even close. I’ve had the same one since college. She stared at the notepad, her brows knitting together.

They told us you changed it, that you didn’t want to be tracked down, that you were ashamed of us. No, I said, backing toward the wall for support. They lied to you.

They cut me off from you, on purpose. Her hands trembled. She sank slowly into the worn floral armchair beside the fireplace, like her knees had given up.

They told me the funeral was at noon, I whispered. I got to the church, and… it was empty. She looked up, her face pale.

The funeral was at nine, she said softly. They told everyone you didn’t show, that you didn’t care. My breath caught.

I would never have missed his funeral. Never. For a moment, the room was quiet, too quiet, and then I felt it, like a crack in the dam, my chest tightening, my vision blurring.

I sank down next to her, clutching her hand like a child. I didn’t know, I said. I didn’t know he was even sick until it was too late…