Then everything shifted.

My grandmother passed. She was the only family I was close to. Losing her cut deep.

She never missed a call, sent me newspaper clippings with notes like, “Thought of you,” in her neat handwriting.

What most didn’t know was she’d set up a trust fund in my name years ago, just for me, not for Caleb or us together. It was enough to live easy and more than enough to turn heads.

My phone lit up with calls and texts. Suddenly, I was family.

“Dinner at ours next Friday, sweetie! Hope you can come!”

Then Lauren: “Spa day this weekend? Just us girls. My treat, unless you want to treat us!”

Even Henry pulled me aside after brunch, his eyes soft. “Nora, I’ve always seen you as a daughter.”

I smiled politely. “That’s sweet.”

It was so fake, so obvious.

But I went along, letting them invite me, piling on the charm.

The big moment came at another dinner, my third that month.

We were eating lemon pie when Henry leaned back and said casually, “So, we’re thinking about sprucing up the Tahoe house. New deck, kitchen fix-up, maybe some landscaping.”

“Sounds nice,” I said.