“Even when new people come?” Her quiet question hung between us like suspended sunlight.
Attorney Margaret Cho’s office smelled of lemon polish and justice. “The trust is ironclad,” she confirmed, tapping Edith’s notarized instructions. “But…” Her gaze softened behind bifocals. “Emotional costs can outweigh financial ones.”
Across town, Gaby’s shadow fell over me at the kitchen island. “You actually hired a lawyer?” Her laugh held sharp edges. “For what? To prove you care more about ghosts than living, breathing children?”
I slid over steaming peppermint tea – her remedy for stress. “Let’s talk about real needs. Sophia’s orthodontia. Maria’s soccer camp.” Her rigid posture softened marginally. “The trust stays untouched, but…” I opened Edith’s recipe box, revealing her vintage sapphire earrings. “These could fund—”
“Secondhand jewelry?” Her snort lacked conviction. We both knew Edith’s family heirlooms held substantial value.
Saturday morning revealed Gaby’s daughters whispering at the breakfast nook. “Mom says we’re getting evicted,” twelve-year-old Maria mumbled to her sister.
“No evictions,” I interjected, setting down pancake batter. “But we are restructuring.” I spread architectural plans across the maple table. “The garage becomes Maria’s art studio. Sophia gets the sunroom for violin practice.”
Gaby froze in the doorway, takeout coffee dripping onto plans. “With what money?”
“Moonlighting consulting hours.” I pointed to Edith’s handwritten budget sheet taped to the fridge. “She taught me creative solutions.”
Six months later, I found Gaby studying Edith’s wedding portrait. “She looks… kind,” she admitted grudgingly.
“Fiercely,” I corrected. “Like someone who’d work three jobs to protect what matters.”
The silence stretched until she whispered, “I’m applying to nursing school.”
At Lily’s college sendoff, Gaby pressed Edith’s sapphires into her palm. “Your mother’s watching. Don’t waste it on parties.”
The girls’ laughter bubbled as they repurposed trust fund spreadsheets into origami swans. Watching them fold financial statements into art, I finally understood Edith’s true legacy – not money, but the courage to reshape broken pieces into something buoyant and new.
