Chapter 3: The Folder
I didn't open the front door.
Sarah sat in the SUV for nearly a minute before Greg got out.
He walked toward my porch carrying the folder.
I opened the door just enough to speak through the gap.
“What do you want?””
Greg stopped.
“Can we talk?””
“No.””
“Claire—”
“Take the folder back to Sarah.””
He looked toward the SUV.
Sarah was staring straight at the cottage.
“She wants to explain.””
“Then she can explain from the driveway.””
Greg swallowed.
“This isn't what you think.””
“Then tell me what it is.””
He looked uncomfortable.
“I can't.””
“Why?””
“Because Sarah said you'd react like this.””
I stared at him.
“Like what?””
“Angry.””
“I am angry.””
“She thinks you're making decisions emotionally.””
I laughed once.
It wasn't funny.
“My daughter moved into my house without permission and told police I'm confused. Now you're standing here with a folder containing my name.””
Greg lowered his voice.
“She just wants security.””
“For herself?””
He didn't answer.
I opened the door wider.
“What is in the folder?””
He looked down.
“Property documents.””
My stomach tightened.
“Which property documents?””
“I don't know.””
“You don't know?””
“She handled everything.””
“Then go ask her.””
He turned.
Sarah was already getting out of the SUV.
She walked toward us slowly.
“Mom, please.””
I stepped onto the porch.
“You're done.””
She stopped.
“Done with what?””
“With using my name.””
Her face changed.
“I don't know what you're talking about.””
“Daniel called me.””
She glanced at Greg.
That tiny movement told me enough.
“You told him to remove my bedroom wall.””
“I was trying to help.””
“You told him I couldn't make decisions.””
“I never said that.””
“Daniel heard you.””
She folded her arms.
“Contractors misunderstand things.””
I looked at Greg.
“Did she ask him about the value of this property?””
Greg said nothing.
“Greg?””
Sarah snapped, “Don't answer her.””
He looked at me.
“Yes.””
Sarah closed her eyes.
I felt something inside me settle.
Not rage.
Clarity.
“What else have you done?””
“Nothing,” Sarah said.
I pointed at the folder.
“What's in it?””
“Just paperwork.””
“Open it.””
“No.””
“Then leave.””
She stepped closer.
“You don't understand what I'm trying to do for you.””
“I understand exactly what you're trying to do.””
Her voice became softer.
“You can't manage everything anymore.””
I stared at her.
“I managed my husband's medical care for three years.””
She said nothing.
“I managed the funeral.””
Nothing.
“I bought this cottage.””
Still nothing.
“I restored it.””
Sarah looked away.
Then she whispered, “Dad would have wanted me to have it.””
That was the first time she had mentioned her father.
My husband had been dead for four years.
I had never heard him say anything like that.
“Don't put words in his mouth.””
She looked back at me.
“He told me before he died.””
I felt the porch beneath my feet.
“What did he tell you?””
Sarah opened her mouth.
Greg suddenly grabbed her arm.
“Sarah, stop.””
She pulled away.
“Why?””
“Because you promised.””
I looked between them.
“Promised what?””
Neither answered.
Then a car pulled into the driveway.
It was Linda.
She got out holding a large envelope.
“Claire,” she called, breathless.
“I found something.””
Sarah went pale.
Linda looked at her.
“Oh.””
Then she looked at me.
“I think you need to see this before you talk to anyone else.””
She handed me the envelope.
My name was written across the front in my mother's handwriting.
I hadn't seen that handwriting in three years.
May you like
And beneath my name were four words that made my blood run cold:
*Do not trust Sarah.*
