Losing my parents changed everything, but it wasn’t until the will was read that I realized just how alone I really was.I always thought grief would come crashing in like a wave — loud, violent, all at once. But for me, it trickled in. A voicemail from a stranger. A sterile hospital waiting room. Two cops who wouldn’t meet my eyes.My name’s Rachel. I’m 19, and last fall, my world fell apart when my parents died in a car crash. One minute they were on their way to dinner; the next, I was standing in a cold hallway at 3 a.m., clutching a paper cup of vending machine coffee, wishing I could hit rewind.After the funeral, the house was too quiet. I kept expecting to hear Mom humming in the kitchen or Dad calling from the garage. I barely left my room except to feed the cat and microwave frozen meals. Grief has a way of shrinking the world.

Then came the will reading.I showed up in borrowed black slacks and a blazer that still smelled like my mom’s perfume. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, so I twisted the hem of my shirt like it was a life raft.Across from me sat Aunt Dina — technically my dad’s sister, though I’d never once heard him speak kindly about her. She wore a tight red dress like she was headed to a cocktail party instead of a legal meeting about her dead brother’s estate. She didn’t cry; didn’t even pretend to.The lawyer cleared his throat. “According to the will, the house will be passed on to Ms. Dina.”I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”Dina smiled like a cat who just ate the canary. “You heard him.””That’s not possible,” I said, my voice shaking. “My parents would never—she hated my mom. She barely spoke to us.”The lawyer shifted uncomfortably. “This is what’s documented. The will appears to be valid and signed.”