I Bought My Late Mom’s House So My Sister Couldn’t Tear It down — Then I Found Her Real Will Hidden Inside

I didn’t respond. My sister tried again the next day. Then she tried calling.

And then it was silence. A week later, she left tulips on the porch, Mom’s favorite. I never opened the note that came with them.

Some things can’t be repaired. Not because I’m holding a grudge, but because some fires burn clean through, and all that’s left is space where something used to live. Now, I sit on that same porch in the evenings with one of Mom’s old floral mugs cupped in my hands.

The wind rustles the magnolia leaves. The porch swing creaks gently beside me. I oil it sometimes, but I’ve come to like the sound.

The house smells like fresh paint and lemon oil now. But it also smells like childhood. Like quiet Sundays with peach pie and comfort.

Sometimes I wonder what Caitlin feels, knowing she tried to erase someone else’s name from a legacy and failed. But mostly, I think of Mom. Sometimes I whisper out loud, like she’s right there beside me.

“You’d like it now,” I say. “The house is safe and warm, and it’s still yours.”

And in those moments, I don’t feel alone. I feel like my mother’s heart is still beating in the foundation of the house.