She didn’t speak for a long time. Sherry let the silence sit, which Sarah would later think was one of the kindest things anyone had done for her through all of it. Finally, Sarah said, “She took it before Mom was even buried.” Sherry said, quietly, “Before probate opened. Yes.” Sarah looked at the window. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
She drove home on autopilot, the city moving past her like scenery in a film she wasn’t watching. She kept replaying eighteen months. The vague spreadsheet. The deflections. The accusations that arrived precisely when she started asking questions. She had been looking at a picture the entire time and not letting herself see it.