The Daughter She Used to Love

I was Mom's favorite. The one she spoiled rotten.

On her deathbed, she lay propped up against the hospital pillows, surrounded by my older sister, my brother, and a room full of relatives. With trembling hands, she pressed a bank card into mine.

"Quinn, you're the one I worry about most. There's a million dollars in this account — everything your father and I saved over a lifetime. I'm leaving it all to you."

I stared at that card, my face drained of color. I couldn't bring myself to take it. It felt less like a gift and more like a death sentence.

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