Inside were gold coins—old, heavy, and unmistakably valuable. An inheritance from my stepmom’s great-grandmother, meant only for emergencies. She’d never needed them. Never mentioned them.
Those coins were worth far more than the cash and apartment Mia inherited.
My stepmom had been a quiet woman. Sometimes harsh. Rarely affectionate. But she used to say something to me when Mia wasn’t around:
“I didn’t give you birth,” she’d whisper, “but I know you deserve love more than anyone else in this family.”
I think this was her way of saying it one last time—after she was gone.
