“You chose love. So you get the truth.”
I pressed a hand to my mouth. “Oh my God.”
“Listen carefully,” she said. “Scout is not just a dog. Scout is the test.”
I let out a shaky laugh that sounded like a sob.
“If you bargained—if you asked, ‘What else?’—then you weren’t the one I could trust,” she said. “But you didn’t.”
Her eyes softened.
“You took him. You chose love. So you get the truth.”
My chest squeezed. “What truth?”
“Do not confront your sisters yet.”
“Tomorrow,” she said, “take Scout to Dr. Patel’s clinic. Ask for a file under Scout’s name.”
I blinked. “Under his name?”
“They’ll know,” she said. “Inside is an envelope and a key.”
Then her expression turned firm.
“Do not confront your sisters yet,” she said. “Do not warn them. Let them show you who they are when they think they’ve won.”
The video ended.
The clinic smelled like antiseptic and wet fur.
My apartment felt colder.
Scout licked my fingers once, slow and certain.
“Okay,” I whispered. “We’ll do it.”
In the morning, I drove across town with Scout in the passenger seat.
The clinic smelled like antiseptic and wet fur.
Scout’s tail thumped once like he remembered.
She disappeared into the back and returned with a manila folder.
The receptionist looked up and her face changed. “Scout.”
I swallowed. “I’m Blythe. June’s granddaughter. I… was told there’s a file under Scout’s name.”
She didn’t ask questions.
She disappeared into the back and returned with a manila folder.
“Take care of him,” she said softly.
“I will,” I replied.
A small key was taped to a note.
In the parking lot, I opened the folder with shaking hands.
A sealed envelope said Blythe only in Grandma’s handwriting.
A small key was taped to a note: Storage Unit 118. Bring someone.
I stared at it, heart pounding.
Then I called my friend Tessa because I didn’t trust myself not to faint in public.
She answered, cheerful. “Hey!”
Unit 118 opened with a squeal.
“I need you,” I said. “Like, now.”
Her tone flipped instantly. “I’m coming. Where are you?”
Unit 118 opened with a squeal.
Inside were neatly stacked bins, photo albums, and a small lockbox that looked like it belonged in a bank.
Tessa stared. “Your grandma planned.”
“She always did,” I murmured.
They would lose it.
We hauled two bins and the lockbox to my car.
Back at my apartment, I opened the sealed envelope first.
It held bank statements, a handwritten ledger, and a typed document titled Trust Contingency.
I read the trust clause twice, then a third time, because my brain refused to accept it.
If Maris or Kaia tried to sell the house, borrow against it, or remove property before the estate settled, the house transferred into a charitable trust.
None of it had been repaid.
They would lose it.
Tessa exhaled. “That’s savage.”
I flipped to the ledger.
Grandma had written down every “loan” she’d ever given my sisters, down to the dollar.
Emergency rent. Car payment. “Just until payday. Promise to pay back.”
None of it had been repaid.
They hadn’t been too busy.
I plugged in the thumb drive and listened to voicemails.
Maris: “Grandma, it’s just practical. Put us on the account.”
Kaia: “You’re sick. Let us handle it.”
My hands curled into fists.
They hadn’t been too busy. They’d been too greedy.
A week after the will reading, I went to Grandma’s house for sentimental things.
Boxes lined the hall.
I brought Scout because I didn’t trust my sisters not to “lose” him on purpose.
Also, I needed him pressed against my leg like an anchor.
When I opened the front door, music blasted through the living room.
Not Grandma’s old-country station. Something loud and thumpy.
Maris and Kaia were inside like they’d moved in.
Boxes lined the hall.
“This place is a gold mine.”
Trash bags sat open on the floor like hungry mouths.
Kaia held up Grandma’s casserole dish with two fingers. “Why did she keep this junk?”
Maris pointed her phone at a stack of vintage Pyrex. “That’s worth money. Don’t toss that.”
My throat tightened.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Kaia turned, eyes bright. “Sorting. This place is a gold mine.”
“Go walk your little dog.”
Maris didn’t even say hi. “Take whatever little knickknacks you want. Just don’t touch anything valuable.”
Scout growled low, a sound I hadn’t heard from him before.
Kaia rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Your little dog is still here?”
“He’s not little,” I said. “And he’s not yours.”
Maris smirked. “Relax. We’re not stealing your prize.”
Kaia laughed, sharp and mean. “Seriously, Blythe. What are you doing here, loser? Go walk your little dog.”
I set my folder down next to their piles.
The word loser landed hard because it proved Grandma right.
To them, I was labor. A tool. Something to step over.
I didn’t yell.
I didn’t cry.