Marla always wanted what wasn’t hers.
Even as a teenager, it showed in the way she looked at things.
She’d visit during holidays, trying to win Grandpa over with gifts and compliments.
But Grandpa would just smile and ask how she really was.
He never played favorites. He chose honesty.
I remembered one Thanksgiving when Marla gave him a luxury watch. He thanked her, put it on a shelf, and never wore it.
“Why don’t you wear the watch, Grandpa?” I once asked.
“Because objects don’t mean much if the person giving them doesn’t understand you.”
I didn’t understand back then. But now, watching Marla calculate her next move, it made perfect sense.
She wasn’t here because she cared. She was here because she thought there was something to gain.
“Grandpa loved you too,” I said softly.
She scoffed. “He loved you more. Everyone could see it.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? I tried, Nolan. But it was always YOU.”
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her.
She glanced at the clock. “It’s late. I’ll take your room. You can sleep on the couch.”
That night, I walked through the house.
Every corner held a memory.
By morning, I knew what I had to do.
Marla was in the kitchen making coffee.
“I’m not selling,” I said calmly.
She froze. “Excuse me?”
“I’m keeping the farm.”
“You’re making a terrible mistake.”
“Maybe. But it’s my choice.”
She slammed her cup.
“This place is worthless. It’ll drain you. You’ve struggled your whole life—this is your chance.”
I didn’t flinch.
She grabbed the safe, hands shaking with anger. “This should’ve been mine!”
The safe slipped, hitting the floor.
The second envelope fell out. She ignored it, grabbed the cash, and stuffed it into her purse—without realizing she was taking the smaller share.
“I deserve this,” she said.
I didn’t stop her.
She stormed out. “You’ll come begging when it all falls apart.”
“Good luck, cousin.”
The door slammed. Her car disappeared down the driveway.
I picked up the second envelope and opened it.
