Jane.

“Hadley Jane Voss. A share of the residual estate, to be administered at the discretion of the executors.”

The lawyer did not look up when he said my name. He never did. He stacked papers like my mother was a file and not the woman who used to leave the porch light on for me. Vincent sat at the head of the dining table in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled, my stepfather for seven years, executor now. Ellis stood behind my chair. He had not sat down once. My stepbrother in the paperwork sense. Twenty-nine. Hands on the chair back close enough that I felt his knuckles...