I thought my father’s will would secure my future. But when the lawyer read a name I didn’t recognize, everything changed. My grandmother’s fury was instant.
Who was Brenna? And why did my father leave everything to her? What secret had he kept hidden all these years?
My life had always been ruled by discipline. Every morning, the same sharp voice echoed through the house.
“Sit up straight, Mona. Don’t slouch. A lady always keeps her composure.”
That was Loretta—my grandmother, my guardian, my shadow. After my mother died, she took over, molding me into the perfect image of a well-bred woman.
Everything had to be flawless—my grades, my posture, even the way I folded napkins. It was exhausting, but I tried. I always tried.
When my father passed away, Loretta immediately focused on what mattered most to her: control. I remember the day my life took a turn. We were sitting in the lawyer’s office, the air stale with the scent of old paper and burnt coffee.
“You’ll invest the money wisely, Mona,” she had said that morning, already outlining how we would rebuild the family’s legacy. “Your father worked hard for this.”
I believed her. Loretta’s confidence had always been unshakable, her plans infallible. So, as we sat in that cold office, I felt sure of my future.
The lawyer cleared his throat and glanced at the will. “As per your father’s wishes, his estate and assets will go to Brenna.”
“Who!?” The word shot out before I could stop it.
The lawyer adjusted his glasses. “Brenna is your father’s other daughter.”
My breath caught. “Sister? I… I have a sister?”
“Impossible!” Loretta’s voice cracked like a whip against the walls. “This must be a mistake! My son couldn’t leave everything to some stranger!”
“It’s no mistake, ma’am,” the lawyer said firmly. “Your son provided clear instructions. Brenna inherits the house, bank accounts, and stocks.”
Loretta’s face twisted in outrage. “You’re telling me that girl—someone we don’t even know—takes it all?”
I barely heard them. A sister. A sister I never knew existed. Loretta’s hand gripped mine, pulling me back.
“We’ll fix this, Mona,” she hissed. “We’ll find this Brenna and make sure she does what’s right.”
Her words felt suffocating, but I nodded. Defying Loretta had never been an option.
A few days later, following my grandmother’s orders, I arrived at Brenna’s house. It was a small place, slightly tilted as if it had leaned against the wind for too long. The paint peeled in uneven patches, revealing the weathered wood beneath.
Before I could knock, the door creaked open. A young woman stood there, smiling wide. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, her fingers twisting together in a rhythmic motion.
“Hi!” she said, her voice bright, almost musical. “I saw you coming. Did you park by the mailbox? It wobbles. I keep meaning to fix it, but…”
She trailed off, her eyes darting to the doorframe. She tapped it three times with her knuckles.
“Uh, yeah,” I replied awkwardly. “I’m Mona. Your sister.”
Brenna’s smile widened. “Come in! Watch the floorboard near the kitchen. It squeaks.”
The inside smelled of clay and earth. The hallway led into a kitchen dominated by a long workbench, covered in half-finished pottery pieces and jars of paint.
She rearranged a set of mismatched vases on the windowsill, muttering before nodding in satisfaction. Then she turned back to me, her smile unshaken.
“You’re my sister.”
“Yes,” I said slowly, unsure how to navigate her openness. “Our father… he passed away recently.”
Her smile faltered. “What’s it like? Having a dad?”
“It’s… hard to say. He was kind. He cared. We were friends.”
She nodded, her fingers twitching. “I never met him. But I have his hands.” She held up her palms, dusted with clay. “Mom always said so. Big hands, like his.”
Her sincerity disarmed me. I’d expected resentment or suspicion, but instead, she radiated quiet acceptance.
“Dad left me a gift,” Brenna said.
“A gift?” I repeated.
“That’s what he called it in his letter. Did he leave you one too?”
I hesitated. “Not really. He didn’t…”
“That’s strange. Everyone should get a gift.”
I managed a small smile. “Maybe.”
“Stay for a week,” she said suddenly. “You can tell me about him. What he liked to eat. What his voice sounded like.”
“A week? I don’t know if…”
“In return, I’ll share the gift. It’s only fair.”
I should have refused. But something in her voice made me pause.
“Okay,” I said. “A week.”
Her face lit up. “Good! We can have pancakes. Do you like pancakes?”
“I do now.”
The week with Brenna felt like stepping into another world, one where the air was lighter and rules didn’t suffocate me. Breakfast was no longer a silent ritual with perfectly placed cutlery—it was pancakes on paper plates, eaten on the porch while the sun warmed our faces.
“Easier this way,” Brenna said. “No big cleanup. Time saved is time for pottery.”
We walked barefoot to the lake, her bare feet pressing into the damp earth like she belonged to it. She paused to touch leaves, rearrange small stones, and listen to the world.
“You ever just sit and listen?” she asked.
“To what?”
“Everything.”
In her pottery studio, she handed me a lump of clay. “Try making something.”
I did. It was awful.
“It’s terrible,” I groaned.
“It’s not terrible,” she said, reshaping it gently. “It’s just new. New things take time.”
Just as I started to breathe easier, Loretta’s calls became frequent.
“Mona, this isn’t a vacation! She doesn’t know what to do with that money. Convince her to sign it over. Use her trust if you have to.”
Her words felt wrong in Brenna’s world. For the first time, I questioned everything.
Then Loretta arrived unannounced. Her presence cut through the peace like a storm.
“Mona, end this nonsense! She doesn’t deserve your father’s legacy. She’s… not like us.”
Brenna whispered, “Gift,” pointing to a small cabinet. Inside, I found a stack of old letters from Brenna’s mother to my father.
“You knew?” I asked Loretta, my voice trembling.
“I did what I had to!” she snapped. “I refused to let them become part of this family.”
Brenna clung to the table, her wide eyes on Loretta.
“You destroyed this family,” I whispered. “And now, I choose differently.”
Loretta stormed out, slamming the door.
I turned to Brenna. “I love you, sis.”
She smiled. “Want pancakes?”
“Oh, I really do.”
And we started building a life—together.
