I always shouldered the responsibilities, particularly for my mother. When illness struck her, I continued my role. I stayed by her bedside daily, providing meals, cleaning her body, and striving to ensure her final moments were peaceful.

I assumed my devotion would be acknowledged. I expected she would bequeath everything to me—particularly the family residence. However, the reading of her testament delivered a stunning betrayal. The rationale behind her choice, and the hidden facts that emerged, would transform my understanding of my relatives—and my identity.

As I steered my vehicle towards Mother’s residence, grief weighed heavily upon me. With her burial ceremony just seven days past, I now confronted the harsh realities that followed. Emptying her home, examining her possessions—it all seemed overwhelming. Yet there I was, handling it without help.

Throughout my life, I’d been the dependable family member. I consistently took leadership, becoming the person everyone counted on. This pattern continued during Mother’s illness. I was the one who remained awake through the night, overseeing her treatment, ensuring she had company.

My sibling Phoebe? She was… difficult. As the younger sister, she behaved unpredictably. She followed her own path—spontaneous, inconsistent. Her life never appeared as organized as mine, yet I still cared for her. I couldn’t allow her to endure this experience alone.

Dan, my spouse, sat next to me in the vehicle. The subtle aroma of liquor surrounded him. He had sworn he’d ceased drinking, but something seemed wrong. My tolerance was decreasing, and arriving at Mother’s residence brought fresh pain. It had previously been my home too. Now it served only as a painful reminder of my loss.

I spotted the attorney waiting outside, carrying his briefcase. A feeling of anxiety settled within me.

“Hello,” I said while exiting the car. “Why are you standing outside?”

“The door is locked,” he answered, looking at the house.

“Locked?” I questioned with concern. “Phoebe should have arrived already. She mentioned she would come early.”

I retrieved my phone and called her. The call went directly to voicemail.

“Her phone is turned off. Wonderful,” I said with growing irritation.

Dan stood behind me, shaking his head. “Yet again, your sister. She requires supervision or something similar,” he complained.

“She’ll arrive shortly,” I responded calmly. I glared at him, silently warning against further comments.

Minutes later, I observed Phoebe approaching. Her hair was disheveled, with mascara tears visible on her face. She appeared exhausted.

“Difficult evening, I presume?” I inquired, folding my arms.

Phoebe flashed a faint grin. “Is my condition that noticeable?”

“Compose yourself. The attorney is waiting,” I instructed, pointing toward the residence.

“Oh really,” she retorted, moving past me. “Everyone understands the property will pass to you. You’re the exemplary daughter, correct?”

I gritted my teeth but avoided confrontation. I noticed her distress. Mother’s passing had affected her more deeply than anyone recognized.

Eventually we gathered in the sitting room, and the attorney began reciting Mother’s testament. He spoke with professional calm, until he delivered words I never anticipated.

“The residence and all properties transfer to Phoebe.”

“Pardon?” I exclaimed, staring at him. “What does it mean the house goes to Phoebe?”

“I’m merely reading the document,” the attorney explained, looking at me sympathetically.

“That’s unjust!” Dan erupted, his tone filled with rage. “Katherine was the one who nursed their mother! Phoebe contributed nothing!” He gestured accusingly at her.

Phoebe leapt up, her expression collapsing as she hurried outside.

“Dan!” I rebuked.

“What? You acknowledge I’m correct,” he insisted, his voice still severe.

I gave no reply. Rolling my eyes, I rose and pursued Phoebe outdoors.

Phoebe occupied the garden bench, the one Mother had cherished. Her posture was slouched, her hands restless in her lap. I couldn’t abandon her in this state.

“I apologize for Dan,” I said, joining her.

“It’s acceptable,” Phoebe answered, her voice hollow. “He consistently behaves that way. You should depart from him.”

“I cannot,” I replied, shaking my head. “He’s my spouse.”

Phoebe remained silent. She gazed forward, immersed in contemplation. I paused before continuing.

“Sell me the property,” I proposed softly.

Phoebe turned toward me, eyes widened. “What?”

“You require funds for your floral business,” I said, maintaining a steady voice. “Sell it to me. I’ll demolish it and construct the home I’ve always envisioned. I believed Mother would bequeath it to me—”

“No,” she declared resolutely, interrupting me.

“What do you mean, no?” I questioned, perplexed. “I’m proposing to assist you, Phoebe.”

“I don’t need your assistance,” she stated, her voice intensifying. “Mother left the residence to me. It belongs to me.”

My patience evaporated. My aggravation erupted. “You did nothing to earn it! I cared for her! I was present when she became immobile. I handled her expenses. I ensured she wasn’t solitary, and you— you were too occupied to help!”

Phoebe stood, fists tightened. “You possess everything, Katherine! Employment, a husband—despite his flaws—and chances I’ll never experience! I’m left with solely this residence!”

“And I bear obligations!” I shouted in response. “Do you understand why I rejected that international position? Because I couldn’t desert you! You couldn’t manage it!”

“Leave!” Phoebe yelled, her face reddened with anger. “I won’t surrender the house to you!”

“Then I’ll claim it!” I bellowed, marching away with fury pulsing through me.

Despite wanting to dismiss our quarrel and leave her undisturbed, I felt compelled to act. Dan constantly urged me to challenge the testament. He insisted it was inequitable and I merited the residence.

I couldn’t comprehend his intense concern, but finally, I conceded. The attorneys, countless consultations, and disputes with Phoebe—everything began overwhelming me. One night, just before our court appearance, I discovered something that froze me.

In Dan’s study, I uncovered a pile of documents—late payments, debt notifications.

My heart sank. I examined them, my pulse quickening as I grasped their significance. He was submerged in financial trouble.

I strode to our bedroom, displaying the papers before him. “Can you elucidate this?” I inquired sharply.

Dan raised himself in bed, his complexion ashen. “Katherine, it’s merely a confusion,” he replied hastily.

“A confusion?” I echoed, raising my voice. “Examine these invoices, Dan. What caused this?”

He evaded my stare, rubbing his face. “We can resolve this,” he murmured.

“We?” I snapped. “Is this why you encouraged me to contest Phoebe for the property? To liquidate it and settle your obligations?”

Dan’s demeanor darkened, his exasperation finally surfacing. “She’s undeserving anyway!” he shouted. “She’s destroying our lives! You constantly rush to her aid. And you hesitated to dispute the will, despite being Mother’s primary caretaker!”

Rage bubbled within me. “Because Phoebe couldn’t endure it!” I screamed. “Witnessing Mother’s condition was too distressing for her. What generated these debts, Dan?”

He faced me, his shoulders drooped. “Betting,” he confessed.

“Betting?” I repeated, astonished. “You’re demolishing everything!”

He swiftly attempted to redirect. “If we dispose of the house, I’ll eliminate all debts. I’ll permanently stop. This could mend everything.”

“Like you abandoned drinking?” I asked icily.

Dan remained quiet, his eyes betraying guilt.

I shook my head despondently. “I cannot continue this, Dan.”

I seized my keys and departed, my thoughts racing.

I drove directly to Mother’s residence. I needed to confront Phoebe, needed reconciliation. I pressed the doorbell, and Phoebe responded almost instantly.

“What?” she asked, visibly annoyed.

“I’m not attempting persuasion again,” I stated while entering. “Dan wasted substantial money through gambling.”

Phoebe’s expression transformed from irritation to shock. She remained silent but guided me to the garden, to Mother’s cherished bench.

Following prolonged silence, Phoebe spoke. “We might sell the property and divide the proceeds,” she suggested gently.

I declined with a headshake. “No. Mother bequeathed the house to you. It’s your possession.”

“Yet you intended to seize it from me,” Phoebe remarked softly.

I acknowledged with embarrassment. “It was a hollow menace. Dan pressured me into it. Now I recognize the reality.”

Phoebe examined me attentively. “You won’t clear his financial obligation?”

“Absolutely not,” I declared resolutely. “You’re the sole individual I would forfeit everything for.”

Phoebe paused momentarily, gazing downward. Then she lifted her head, her expression gentler. “I regret shouting at you. I’ve perpetually felt overshadowed by you. You were consistently the flawless one—the person everyone discussed.”

“Identical to Mother,” I remarked, beaming at her.

“Indeed,” she concurred, forming a slight grin.

“I understand your absence during Mother’s care stemmed from emotional difficulty witnessing her condition. She comprehended that too,” I explained tenderly. “That’s why she constantly mentioned you. Her affection for you exceeded mine. That’s why I continually felt eclipsed by you.”

Phoebe chuckled lightly. “Apparently Mother required parental guidance before having children.”

We both laughed, easing the tension between us.

“What happens next?” she inquired.

“I’m abandoning Dan, providing funds for your floral enterprise, and accepting that international position,” I stated, meeting her gaze.

“Katherine,” Phoebe uttered gently, embracing me. “I’ll manage fine. And likewise will you.”

I smiled, returning her embrace firmly. “Yes. I realize that.”