Chapter 2 - Sadie Was My Sister’s Daughter
Sadie was my niece.
My younger sister Emily’s only child.
Emily and I had been close growing up, then complicated as adults in the way siblings sometimes are when money, marriage, and family expectations begin crowding into every conversation.
She married young.
Divorced three years later.
Raised Sadie mostly alone.
By the time Sadie turned six, Emily had been living with a chronic autoimmune condition for almost two years.
Not dying.
Not permanently disabled.
But sick enough that employment became inconsistent.
Some months she worked.
Some months she couldn’t.
That mattered because our late parents had left Emily a small cottage on family land outside Boston.
Nothing extravagant compared with the mansion where the ballroom gathering took place.
But it was hers.
At least that was what I believed.
Celeste had become increasingly involved in family property management over the previous year.
She was good at paperwork.
Good with attorneys.
Good at making every administrative problem sound as if only she understood it.
Emily hated that.
“She talks about my house like she owns it,” my sister told me once.
I laughed.
“She talks about everything like she owns it.”
Emily didn’t laugh.
I should have noticed.
The family gathering where Sadie’s backpack ended up on the marble was supposed to discuss restructuring several inherited properties.
Emily couldn’t attend.
She was recovering from a medication reaction and staying home.
So Sadie came with our aunt.
Celeste apparently decided a six-year-old carrying drawings was a problem.
At first, I thought she was simply being cruel.
Then I saw what Sadie had drawn.
A little yellow cottage.
Two stick figures.
One labeled MOM.
One labeled ME.
And a giant black X over the front door.
Below it:
MOM SAYS AUNT CELESTE WANTS US OUT.
Celeste had not thrown that backpack because Sadie spilled toys.
May you like
She had thrown it because she saw the drawing.
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