We all turned to her.
“I don’t want the farm shares,” she continued, looking at her hands. “I don’t want to force you to sell anything. I don’t want to disrupt Margaret’s inheritance or… or the grandkids.”
“Then what do you want, dear?” Mom asked gently.
“Just… acknowledgment,” Alyssa whispered. “And maybe… help with my student loans. They’re heavy. If… if he left cash assets, that would be enough. I don’t want to take the earth out from under you.”
I looked at her. She was wearing a sweater I had bought her for her birthday last month. It was slightly too big. She looked small in this room of heavy oak and heavier history. She was trying so hard to be low-maintenance, to be the opposite of the disruption she inherently was.
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