Vanessa’s voice sliced through like glass:

“Patsy, I need this ugly junk out of my house. Today.”

I frowned, wiping my hands on a dish towel. “What junk?”

“That hideous armoire from Grandma Rose. It’s turning my living room into a thrift store. I’m having it delivered to you. You’ll need to pay the movers. Okay?”

My chest tightened. Grandma Rose—Daniel’s grandmother too—was the warm, gentle soul who’d taught me her apple butter recipe and held my hand at my first family Christmas. She’d been there when my baby was born. That armoire was one of her last possessions.

“Are you sure, Vanessa? It’s—”

“I don’t care who it belonged to. It’s junk. Dark, ugly junk. Burn it if you want. Just promise me you’ll take it off my hands.”

Silence. I could hear