“She asked me to give this to you if you ever felt pressured about the property,” he said.
I put it in my purse and left, still foolish enough to hope my family might behave decently.
That hope died three days later.
They showed up at the house uninvited, using the spare key I hadn’t changed yet. I came out of the kitchen to find my parents and Meredith arranged in Grandma’s living room like executives staging a takeover.
“This isn’t right,” my father said. “One person shouldn’t hoard such a valuable family asset.”
“Families share blessings,” my mother added sweetly.
Meredith leaned forward. “Be practical, Natalie. This house makes more sense for my future. I’ll be entertaining clients, building a real life. You’re a single teacher. The taxes alone will drown you.”
“And what is my future supposed to be?” I asked.
My mother gave me a soft, cruel smile.
“Oh, sweetheart. You teach children. You don’t need a grand historic house to be happy.”
Two days later, they brought the number.
They wanted me to sell the house to Meredith for $250,000.
I knew it was worth at least $750,000 already.