That was all.
A shawl.
Not a bank account.
Not a piece of property.
Not even one of the valuable necklaces my mother had collected over the years.
Just a worn piece of fabric folded inside a plain cardboard box.
The room remained silent for several seconds.
Then Lila laughed.
She tried to disguise it as a cough, but nobody believed her.
“Well,” she said, glancing around the lawyer’s office, “I suppose Mother made her feelings clear.”
I looked at her.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged.
“Nothing. I’m only saying that people usually leave their most valuable things to the children they feel closest to.”
Our brother shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
