She turned in a slow circle, light catching on a stack of black trash bags pushed into the far corner. There were maybe seven or eight of them, sagging and leaning against one another, like a pile no one had dared to throw out.
She felt the heat rise in her throat. It was too much. The months she’d spent watching her father fade. The silence from her brothers. The barn. The trap door. The mystery that turned out to be… this. “Usable,” she muttered bitterly. “Right.”