My sister, Sarah, chimed in, softer but no kinder. “Do you think she’ll try to take charge? You know how she gets. Acting like she’s better than everyone.”

I felt something cold settle deep in my chest.

My mother again. “That’s why we have to stay calm, sympathetic. If she thinks we’re on her side, she’ll sign whatever we put in front of her.”

My fingers tightened around the envelope until the paper crinkled. Sign what?

My father exhaled sharply. “The lawyer said it’s easier if she cooperates, especially with her… history.”

History. That one word hit me harder than any insult.

My mother lowered her voice further. “PTSD, long deployments, exhaustion. We can frame it as concern. We’re worried about her mental state after the funeral, after the military.”

The porch tilted slightly under my boots.