**THE MISSING WILL**
Dad’s lawyer called this morning. Said there was a discrepancy. I thought he meant a typo, some clerical error. No. Turns out, the will Dad supposedly signed last year… it’s not *quite* the same as the copy he has on file.
Said it’s missing a page. The page detailing the distribution of the lake house. Mom always said she wanted it, but I assumed we’d all share.
Now, Mom and my sister are practically screaming at each other, accusing each other of tampering. They think *I’m* siding with her? ⬇️
Now, Mom and my sister, Clara, are practically screaming at each other, accusing each other of tampering. Clara’s face, usually so meticulously made-up, was contorted with fury, her lipstick smeared. “You did this, Bethany! You always wanted that lake house! You’re so greedy!”
Mom, usually the picture of serene composure, was a whirlwind of trembling hands and outraged whispers. “Don’t be ridiculous, Clara! I’ve always said Bethany could have it if she wanted it! You’re the one who’s always been obsessed with that place!”
I, caught in the crossfire, felt a cold dread settle in my stomach. I hadn’t touched the will. But their accusations, fueled by years of simmering sibling rivalry and a deep-seated resentment over Dad’s perceived favoritism, felt like a physical blow. “Neither of you! I haven’t seen the will since Dad’s death,” I stammered, my voice barely audible above their escalating shouts.
The lawyer, Mr. Henderson, a portly man with a perpetually concerned expression, attempted to intervene. “Ladies, please. We need to remain calm. The police have been informed, and they are investigating.” Police? This was getting out of hand.
The investigation unearthed a shocking twist. A hidden camera, installed by Dad months before his death, seemingly without anyone’s knowledge, captured Clara surreptitiously entering his study the night before the will was declared missing. The footage was grainy, the audio muffled, but undeniably showed her. Clara, stone-faced, denied everything, claiming it was a setup.
Then came the second shock. Mr. Henderson revealed another discrepancy. The copy Dad had on file wasn’t the original, either. There were subtle differences in the ink, suggesting forgery. He produced a third version, discovered tucked away in Dad’s old briefcase – a meticulously crafted document, perfectly matching the missing page. This version bequeathed the lake house… to me.
Silence descended upon the room, heavy and suffocating. Mom, her face pale, looked at me, a mixture of guilt and disbelief in her eyes. Clara stared at the floor, her shoulders slumped, her anger replaced by a hollow emptiness.
The missing page wasn’t about greed or sibling rivalry. Dad, in a final act of quiet manipulation, had orchestrated the entire drama. The hidden camera, the forged will – it was all a test, a cruel game designed to reveal the true character of his daughters. And in its wake, it exposed the deep fissures within the family, revealing not who had stolen a page, but who was truly capable of love and forgiveness.
The lake house, now a symbol of unspoken pain and calculated deception, felt less like a prize and more like a poisoned chalice. I looked at my mother and sister, the years of arguments and resentments hanging heavy in the air. The police investigation would continue, but the real drama, the unraveling of our family, had already concluded, leaving behind a legacy of unspoken resentments and a profound sense of loss. The resolution was bittersweet, a silent testament to a father’s twisted game, and a family fractured beyond repair.