At my grandmother’s will reading, my mother sat in front of fourteen silent people, watched the lawyer read out a $2.3 million estate that somehow included everyone but me, then turned with a smile so calm it felt practiced and said, “You were always her least favorite.” And for one humiliating second, I thought she had finally found the perfect way to erase me in public.

The funeral was held three days later and although I had asked to deliver the eulogy, Marilyn told me that Harrison would handle it because he was much better with large crowds. “Harrison is the face of this family now and it is only fitting that he represents us during the service,” Marilyn informed me while she adjusted her black veil in the mirror.

Harrison’s speech was a collection of empty generalities about the Miller name and he never once mentioned the cookies she baked or the deep bond she and I had shared for three decades. After the service, I walked into Rosalind’s bedroom and found Marilyn already sorting through the jewelry drawers and placing items into various labeled bags for the estate process.

“What exactly are you doing in here so soon after the service?” I asked while standing in the doorway with tears still wet on my face. Marilyn looked at me with an annoyed expression and told me she was simply organizing things before the formal legalities began because she did not want anything to go missing.