She resented what it represented.
She already knew Grandma had protected something from her.
And she’d spent years telling herself it should have belonged to her instead.
Ava suddenly whispered, “You knew.”
Everyone looked at her.
She stared at Mom.
“You knew the farmhouse belonged to Amelia.”
Mom didn’t answer.
Ava’s face changed.
“How long?”
“Ava—”
“How long?”
“Years.”
Ava shook her head.
“And you told me Grandpa favored her. You told me Amelia was trying to take everything.”
Mom’s expression hardened.
“I was protecting your future.”
“No. You used me.”
The realization crossed Ava’s face.
Every complaint.
Every rivalry.
Every whisper from Mom that I thought I was better.
She had nurtured all of it.
Ava dropped into a chair.
Grandpa turned toward me.
“I owe you an apology.”
“You?”
“I suspected your mother had been accessing things she shouldn’t. I didn’t know how far it had gone.”
