The night before the Fourth of July, I stayed late at the office, lost in busywork until a call shattered my world. My foster sister Cynthia had died suddenly, and shockingly, she’d named me in her will. I left the city with a heavy heart, unsure what secrets awaited me beyond the grief.
My boss noticed my distraction and insisted I take the holiday off. Outside, the streets buzzed with celebration, families laughing and lighting fireworks, while I felt the sharp sting of loneliness. Then the attorney called again—Cynthia had left something unexpected, a mystery tied to our past.
