My grandmother was the kind of wise that comes from living through hard times and still choosing kindness at every turn.

"What goes around comes around," she'd say, her voice gentle but firm, eyes crinkling at the corners. "So make sure what you put out is what you'd want coming back."

When she passed away last winter, it felt like the world got a little dimmer.

"You okay?" Caleb asked, his breath clouding in the cold air.

I nodded, though we both knew I was lying. At 30 years old, I shouldn't have felt so lost without my grandmother. But Mama E had been our rock since we were kids.

"The lawyer called," Caleb said, stuffing his hands deeper into his coat pockets. "She left us the house. Split right down the middle. We're supposed to sell it and use part of the money to start that animal shelter she always talked about."

I smiled despite the ache in my chest.

Mama E had taken in every stray that crossed her path for as long as I could remember. The local animal shelter had closed five years back, and she'd been talking about opening a new one ever since.

We were working with a realtor when Aunt Sheryl showed up.

I hadn't seen my mom's older sister in nearly a decade, not since she'd cleaned out Mama E's savings account and disappeared with her boyfriend, Rich.

So when a battered station wagon pulled into the driveway one April afternoon while Caleb and I were clearing out the garage, I almost didn't recognize her.

She stepped out slowly, looking frail in a floral headscarf. Her once-plump cheeks were hollow, and her eyes seemed too big for her face.

"Annie? Caleb?" Her voice trembled. She walked toward us with small, careful steps, clutching her purse like it might blow away. "I know I'm probably the last person you want to see. I've made a lot of mistakes. But I'm... I'm not doing so well now."

"What does that mean?" Caleb asked, crossing his arms.

Sheryl looked down at her worn sneakers. "It's lymphoma. Stage three. Rich left when the medical bills started piling up. I had to sell my condo to pay for chemo, and now..." A sob caught in her throat. "I've got nowhere to go."

I glanced at Caleb, whose jaw was clenched tight.

"Mama E is gone," Sheryl continued, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I know I hurt her. I know I can never make that right. But please... she wouldn't want me on the street, would she?"

Despite everything, my heart twisted.

I took a step forward and hugged her. She felt so small in my arms, so fragile. She cried so hard she could barely catch her breath.

"I'm sorry," she gasped between sobs. "I'm so sorry."

Caleb and I exchanged a look over her shoulder.

Something passed between us — that silent communication that only happens between siblings who've weathered the same storms.

Later that night, we sat on Mama E's front porch. I lit one of her favorite candles, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon filling the cool evening air.

"What do you think, Mama E?" I whispered. "What would you want us to do?"

Caleb sighed heavily. "You know what she'd say. 'Family is family, even when they break your heart.'"

"So we're really going to do this?" I asked.

"Do we have a choice?" He picked up a pen and the deed papers we'd been reviewing with the realtor. "It's what Mama E would want."

The next morning, we signed over the house to Aunt Sheryl. No contracts, no money changing hands, just family taking care of family.

"I'll keep it up," Sheryl promised, her eyes still red-rimmed from crying. "I'll honor her memory. Maybe even help with that shelter you mentioned."

We didn't even tell our mom what we'd done. It felt too raw, too personal.

One week later, I was filling up my old Honda at the gas station when a gleaming red Tesla Model Y caught my eye. The license plate read "SHERYL-1."

My stomach dropped.

I parked across the street at the grocery store and waited, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Twenty minutes later, Aunt Sheryl strutted out of a boutique, her hair styled in perfect waves, designer sunglasses perched on her nose, and a gleaming purse swinging from her arm. She was laughing into her phone.

"Yes, I closed on the house yesterday! All cash," she said, loud enough for me to hear from where I sat. "Just needed to spin a little sob story to get them off my back. You have to come see the condo I've got my eye on. It has a spa. In the building."

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. Cancer. Homelessness. Poverty. All lies.

My hands shook as I texted Caleb: "She sold it."

Ten minutes later, we were on Zoom. Caleb's face was red with anger.

"We could sue her," he suggested. "We had no written agreement. She pressured us when we were grieving."

Caleb shook his head. "We didn't make her do anything. We just created a situation where her true self would show."