I stared at Mom.
She was sobbing now.
Not my mother.
The woman I’d called Mom.
“Her name was Caroline,” Grandpa said. “She was your mother’s younger sister.”
My skin turned cold.
Grandpa continued carefully.
“Caroline was seventeen when she became pregnant. She was frightened. Your grandmother and I made decisions we believed were protecting everyone.”
“Stop,” Mom whispered.
But I had to know.
“Where is Caroline?”
Grandpa lowered his eyes.
“She died giving birth to you.”
I couldn’t feel my hands.
The woman sitting across from me—Linda Bennett, the woman I’d called Mom every day of my life—was actually my aunt.
Ava wasn’t my younger sister.
She was my cousin.
The room blurred.
“Why?”
It came out barely louder than a whisper.
Grandpa wiped his eyes.
“Caroline begged Linda to raise you.”
I turned toward Linda.
“You knew?”
She nodded.
“All my life?”
“Yes.”
“And Grandma left the farmhouse to me because…”
“It belonged to Caroline,” Grandpa said. “Your grandmother intended it to pass to her. When she died, it passed to you.”
Suddenly, everything connected.
Why Linda hated the trust.
Why she’d treated my inheritance as if I’d stolen something from her.
Why she seemed angry whenever Grandpa gave me anything.
But I still didn’t understand one thing.
“Why did you spend my trust?”
Linda’s face twisted.
“Because your mother destroyed my life.”
Grandpa stood.
