Bittersweet

Her mother texted Aimee : “Your Grandfather left you everything.”

After mixing peanut butter into vanilla cookie dough, Aimee replied, “No way.”

She was stumped. He’d barely spoken to her the last time she visited. Aimee had hidden her resentment, watching how his care exhausted her mother, knowing her mother loved him.

Traveling to the funeral, she’d worked it out. Of his four children, only her mother had fulfilled his wishes, giving him a grandchild and care at life’s end. It fell into place. While Aimee stood in for her mother, her aunts would feel the sting of his venom one last time.

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