PART ONE – THE PIANO
My name is Annabelle Thompson, and I’m twenty‑eight years old. I live just outside Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, here in the United States. Four weeks ago, my parents sold my grandmother’s antique Steinway piano—the one she had promised would be mine—and used all ninety‑five thousand dollars from the sale to buy my younger sister a brand‑new Mercedes.
They thought Grandma was too sick in hospice to ever find out. They thought I was too weak to tell her. They were wrong.
When I finally told Grandma what they’d done, she didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She simply reached for her phone, dialed one number, and said seven words that would destroy everything my parents thought they owned.
Before I tell you what those seven words were and what happened later at my mother’s sixtieth birthday party, I want to pause for a moment. Whenever I share this story—online or with friends—people sometimes tell me where they’re reading from and what time it is there. It always amazes me that something that happened to one American family in Pennsylvania can ripple so far.
For now, let me take you back to the day it all truly started: the afternoon my grandmother was admitted to hospice. The call came on a Tuesday, right after my last piano lesson of the day. “Eleanor’s had another heart attack,” my father said.
No greeting, no warmth. “She’s stable, but they’re moving her to hospice. Family meeting at the hospital in an hour.”
I dropped everything and drove across town.
By the time I arrived at the hospital, my parents and my sister Megan were already huddled in a corner of the waiting room, speaking in low voices. My father, Richard Thompson, stood with his arms crossed. My mother, Diane, clutched her designer purse like a lifeline.
Megan—four years younger than me, always the favorite—was scrolling through her phone, barely looking up. “Good you’re here,” my father said, as if he’d been waiting for a delivery, not his eldest daughter. “We need to divide responsibilities.”
Not How are you holding up? Not This must be hard for you. Just logistics.
“Someone needs to visit Mother daily,” he went on. “Diane and I have the business to run. Megan’s in a critical phase with Daniel’s family.”
Daniel Harrison.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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