She sighed. Not a guilty sigh. A tired sigh. The sigh of a woman who has been caught doing something she does not intend to apologize for.

“Bethany, you have to understand—”

“I have to understand what?”

“You never needed me. Not once. Not when you were nineteen and I told you I couldn’t pay for school.

Not when your car broke down and you figured it out. Not when the medical bills came and you just handled it. You have always handled everything.”

“And that’s why you cut me out?”

“Simone needs me. She has always needed me. If I don’t take care of her, who will? You — you are fine, Bethany. You have Richard. You have your job. You have your house. Simone has nothing.”

“Simone has nothing because she has never had to have anything, Mama. Because you give her everything.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Fair? You want to talk about fair? I paid $34,000 of your medical bills. I drove to PT ninety-one times. I gave up weekends and holidays and sleep. And you gave me china.”

She was quiet. Then she said it. The thing I will carry forever.

“The china was Grandma Lucille’s. I thought it would mean something to you.”

“It does, Mama. It means exactly what it means.”

I hung up. I sat in the break room for four more minutes. Then I checked my patient’s vitals.

Richard and I talked about it that night. We were sitting on the back porch. The dog was chasing something in the yard. It was warm. Savannah warm. The kind of warm that sits on your skin.

“So what do you want to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t contest it. Janet says the will was changed three times and all three times it was notarized and legal and Gloria was of sound mind.”

“Three times?”

“Three times. She thought about this, Richard. She didn’t just forget me. She actively decided, three separate times, that Simone should get everything.”

He was quiet for a while. Then he said, “You know what makes me angriest?”