Dad’s jaw clenched.
“You don’t understand what grief does to people.”
Grandma stepped between us.
“No, Jack. You don’t understand what accountability does to people. But you’re about to.”
Valerie suddenly snatched the cedar box from Grandma’s hands and hurled it across the room.
It smashed against the fireplace.
The ring skittered over the hardwood.
I cried out.
Dad shouted, “Valerie!”
For the first time, he sounded shocked at her, not at me.
Valerie’s chest heaved.
“I am so sick of that woman controlling everything from the grave!”
The words hung there.
That woman.
Not Sarah.
Not my sister.
Not Chloe’s mother.
That woman.
Grandma bent slowly, picked up Mom’s ring, and placed it in my good hand.
“Keep it.”
Valerie’s eyes locked on the ring.
“You don’t deserve that.”
I looked at her.
“Neither did you.”
She lunged.
I don’t know what she intended to do. Slap me. Grab the ring. Push me again.
But Dad caught her arm.
“Enough.”
Valerie whipped on him.
“Don’t you start acting noble now.”
Another silence fell.
Dad’s face darkened.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Valerie laughed.
A real laugh this time. Mean and bright.
“It means you don’t get to pretend this was all me.”
Dad said, “Shut up.”
Grandma’s eyes narrowed.
Valerie smiled at him.
“Oh, now you want me quiet?”
“Valerie.”
“No. Let’s tell them. Let’s tell your daughter why Sarah changed the trust.”
Dad took one step toward her.
“Don’t.”
Valerie’s smile widened.
“Because she found us together in her bed.”
My knees nearly gave out.
The room blurred.
I heard someone gasp.
Dad didn’t deny it.
That was the part that hurt worse than the words.
He didn’t deny it.
Grandma’s face went white, but not with surprise. With rage.
“She found you,” Grandma said slowly. “And three days later she came to my house with bruises on her wrist.”
Dad snapped, “I never hit her.”
“No,” Grandma said. “You grabbed her when she tried to leave.”
Valerie scoffed.
“Sarah was always dramatic.”
I moved before anyone could stop me.
With my broken wrist against my chest and my leg screaming, I took one step toward Valerie.
“You don’t get to say her name.”
Valerie looked me up and down.
“Or what?”
Grandma’s voice cut through the room.
“Or I call the police standing outside.”
Valerie froze.
Dad turned.
Outside, through the front window, red and blue lights flashed once.
Not sirens.
Just presence.
Quiet. Waiting.
Grandma had not come alone.
“You set us up,” Dad whispered.
Grandma looked at him.
“No. Sarah did.”