“No,” she replied firmly. “Mom left it to me.”
“You don’t deserve it,” I snapped. “I was the one who cared for her!”
Phoebe stood, her voice trembling with frustration. “You think I wanted her to leave it to me? You have everything, Katherine—why can’t you let me have this?”
The argument spiraled, and I stormed off, unsure which hurt more: losing the house or losing my sister.
In the days that followed, Dan pushed me to contest the will. I learned the true reason behind his pressure when I stumbled upon a pile of debt notices in his office. He’d been gambling, and wanted the house sold to cover his losses. The betrayal was the final crack in our already fragile marriage.
I confronted Phoebe again, but this time, I came with the truth. “I’m leaving Dan,” I told her. “He wanted me to fight you for the house, but I won’t. Mom left it to you for a reason.”
Phoebe’s hardened expression softened. “I’m sorry too,” she said quietly. “I’ve always felt like I was living in your shadow. But you don’t have to fix everything, Katherine. Mom knew I needed this house to find my footing. And she knew you’d find your own way.”
For the first time in years, we hugged, the weight of resentment finally lifting. Phoebe decided to keep the house, and I took a leap of faith, accepting a long-postponed job offer abroad.
In the end, losing the house gave me something far more valuable: clarity, freedom, and a renewed bond with my sister. Sometimes, the things we think we deserve aren’t what we need. It took losing everything to find what truly mattered.