opened the envelope.
Then I read Dad’s handwriting aloud.
Clara is my daughter in every way that matters, and anyone who treats her otherwise forfeits what I leave through her trust.
Mom shot to her feet so quickly her chair scraped against the floor.
Ryan stared at me.
“What trust?”
I looked at him.
Then at the unpaid invoice.
“The one paying for this party,” I said. “Until five minutes ago.”
Mom reached toward the letter as if grabbing it could somehow undo what Dad had written.
I stepped away.
