I believed my father’s will would protect me. The lawyer then read an unfamiliar name. My grandma raged immediately. Who was Brenna, and why did my father leave her everything? What was its secret?
There were always regulations in my life. Every morning, a harsh voice rang through the home.
Sit straight, Mona. Avoid slouching. A woman is always calm.”
Loretta was my grandma, guardian, and shadow. She raised me in her grand image after my mother died.
Everything must be flawless. Grades, posture, and napkin folding. It was exhausting, but I tried. Always tried.
Loretta rapidly focused on her priorities when my father died. Control. I recall the day my life changed. We were in the lawyer’s office.
“You’ll invest the money wisely, Mona,” she began that morning, describing how we would reestablish the family heritage. “Your father worked hard on this.”
Yes, I believed her. Loretta had unshakeable confidence and foolproof preparations for years. I felt confident in my future as we sat in that frigid office with stale coffee.
The lawyer looked at the will and said, “As per your father’s wishes, his estate and money will go to Brenna.”
“Who!?” Word left my mouth before I could stop it.
The lawyer hesitated. “Brenna is your father’s other daughter.”
“Sister? I… I have sister?
“Impossible!” Loretta’s piercing voice echoed. “This must be wrong! Son couldn’t trust strangers with everything!”
“It’s no mistake, ma’am,” the lawyer added. “Your son gave clear instructions. Brenna gets the house, accounts, and stocks.”
“What?” Loretta shrieked. “You’re telling me that unknown child takes it all?”
I scarcely heard. A sister. A sister I never knew. Loretta pulled me back with her hand.
“We’ll fix this, Mona. We’ll locate Brenna and make her do right.”
Her words suffocated me, yet I nodded. Never thought about defying Loretta.
***
As instructed by Grandma, I arrived at Brenna’s residence a few days later. A modest home swayed slightly to one side, its peeling paint flaking like sunburn.
Brenna smiled when the front door cracked open before I knocked. Her arms were relaxed at her sides, and her fingers twisted instinctively.
Her voice was bright and melodic, “Hi!” I saw you coming. Did you park near the mailbox? It wobbles. I keep intending to repair it, but…
She paused, her gaze leaping to the doorframe corner. She knuckled it three times.
“Uh, yeah,” I said nervously. My name is Mona. Your sister.”
Come in! Stepping away without seeing, she interrupted. The kitchen floorboard should be watched. It squeaks.”
The home smelled like mud and soil inside. The tiny corridor led to a kitchen with a big workbench covered in half-finished ceramics, paint jars, and unfamiliar instruments.
Brenna muttered as she adjusted three mismatched vases on the ledge before nodding in satisfaction.
She smiled at me again as if nothing had occurred. You’re my sister.”
“Yes,” I answered hesitantly, uncertain how to handle her honesty. “Our father… His death was recent.”
She smiled steadily. What’s it like? Having dad?”
It’s difficult to say. He was kind. He cared. Was friends.”
Her fingers twitched on her thighs as she nodded. I never met him. But I have his hands.” She held up clay-flecked hands. Mom always said so. Big hands, like him.”
Her honesty disarmed. I expected animosity or mistrust, yet she was silent and accepting.
“Dad left me a gift,” Brenna remarked.
“A gift?” I repeated. “That’s nice.”
“Yes. He called it. In the lawyer letter. Did he give you anything?
Loretta’s stinging comments made me hesitate. Not really. He did not…
That’s odd. Everyone deserves a gift.”
I grinned. “Maybe.”
“You should stay for a week,” Brenna smiled. “Tell me about him. His personality. He enjoyed eating. Sound of his voice.”
A week? I asked, shocked. Not sure whether…
“In return,” she said, “I’ll share the gift. Only fair.” She twisted her hands waiting for my reaction.
I said, “I don’t know if I have much to say about him,” but I sensed their deception as I spoke. “However… A week.”
Her face shone. “Good. Can have pancakes. But only if you like them.”
Still humming, she returned to her workshop. I knew her “gift”. Loretta’s strategy looked easy then. Too simple. Brenna’s compassion complicated everything.
***
That week at Brenna’s place was like entering a parallel dimension where time slowed and expectations melted away. Everything about her life was different from mine.
Breakfast no longer included a corner bakery croissant and a smooth latte. It was simple—bacon, eggs, and tea on paper plates.
Brenna commented, “Easier this way,” one morning. No significant cleaning. Saved time for pottery.”
She spoke plainly without filters. It disarmed.
However, her practice of putting and resetting the dishes on the porch rail to ensure alignment made me study her intently. Every ritual has a tale.
“Let’s walk to the lake,” she said after breakfast my second morning.
She left her sandals beside the porch steps and stepped into the grass barefoot.
It’s better this way.”
I followed her through chilly, biting dew on the grass. She led the way, stopping to touch leaves or rearrange a little mound of stones.
She felt calmed by those little, deliberate activities like breathing.
She slipped her fingers into the lake while kneeling near the edge. “You ever sit and listen?”
“To what?” Standing stiffly behind her, I asked.
“Everything.”
Brenna’s studio dominated our days. Inside smelt moist and earthy, like clay and creativity.
On day three, she gave me clay. “Here. Make something.”
My initial effort failed. Clay flowed between my fingers, forming a shapeless lump.
“It’s terrible,” I grumbled, ready to dismiss it.
Brenna delicately reshaped the clay, showing me. “It’s not terrible,” she said. “Just new. New things need time.”
Wow, her patience. I spilled water on her workbench, ruining one of her final pieces, yet she didn’t yell. Instead, she meticulously cleaned up.
As I relaxed, free from Loretta’s grip, her calls increased. She seemed to detect my change in breathing and living.
She spoke sharply that night. Why are you waiting, Mona? No vacation here! You must act. She has no idea what to do with that money.”
I kept quiet but strengthened my phone grasp. I could feel her impatience bubbling.
“She’s naïve, Mona. Persuade her to sign. If persuasion fails, then… Find a solution. Use her trust if necessary.”
Brenna thought her comments were incorrect, therefore they hurt.
“I dunno, Grandma. Not as easy as you think.”
She snapped, “It’s that simple. “Don’t let her quirks distract you. Focus, Mona.”
I wanted to argue that Brenna deserved more than she thought, but I couldn’t. I said something ambiguous and hung up. I began to doubt my intentions for the first time.
***
Loretta unexpectedly came the next day, breaking the tranquility apart. Her shoes clicked on the uneven floor as she entered the home.
“This is where you’ve been hiding?” she said, scanning Brenna’s tidy pottery studio. “Mona, how can you endure this mess? She turned to Brenna, “you have no right to what’s been given to you.”
Brenna stopped, repeating, “Gift, gift,” as she positioned vases on the workbench.
Loretta ignored her and faced me. “Mona, stop this nonsense. She doesn’t deserve your father’s heritage. She’s…” Loretta snarled, “not like us.”
Brenna said, “Gift,” pointing to a corner cabinet. Her swaying increased, her fingers tugging her apron.
I hesitated but opened the cabinet. Stacked letters with fading edges were within. Each was for my dad. Catching my breath.
“What are those?” Loretta commanded.
“These are from Brenna’s mother,” I added, scrolling through. Did you know?
Loretta paled, then hardened. Did what I had to! Would I let a lady kidnap my son with a broken child? When she searched for him, I advised her to go. I excluded her and her kid from this family.”
Brenna gripped to the table, staring at Loretta, as her words were terrible.
“You destroyed this family,” I shakily murmured. “You never told him he had another daughter.”
A sour chuckle from Loretta filled the room. “He learned! That’s why he modified his will. Now you let her take everything!”
“Dad left a gift,” Brenna whispered. He wanted me to have it.
Grandma, this isn’t about money. I won’t let you steal more from her.”
Loretta slammed the door as she left.
I faced Brenna. I’m sorry. I love you, sis.”
Like nothing occurred, she said, “Do you want pancakes?”
I truly do!”
We dined on the balcony as the sun set, coloring the sky softly. We began our life together that day.
I expanded Brenna’s ceramic workshop. After fixing the house and adding flowers, I discovered my love for painting by embellishing her works.
Our art sold to individuals from distant places as word spread. Though imperfect, life was ours. For the first time, I wasn’t living to please others. I lived for Brenda and me.
