Inside was a contract.
According to the agreement, Margaret would receive the house only if she fulfilled specific caregiving responsibilities and covered certain expenses during Grandma’s final years.
If she failed to meet those conditions, the house would legally return to me.
“It was protection,” Helen said softly. “Your grandmother needed help, but she didn’t trust anyone completely.”
I let out a slow breath.
Grandma hadn’t chosen Margaret.
She had made a deal.
When I returned to Juniper Lane, Margaret was standing in her yard talking to two neighbors.
“We need to talk,” I said.
Her smile tightened when she saw the folder in my hands.
“This isn’t the time,” she said.
“It is,” I replied calmly. “The house wasn’t a gift. It was part of a contract.”
The neighbors fell silent.
“If you fulfilled the agreement, the house is yours,” I said.
Margaret looked down.
“I didn’t complete all of it,” she admitted quietly.
