And that was when everything began to change.

It started with her saying she was tired more often, then a fall in the kitchen, then a hospital stay, and then, way too fast, a small bedroom in a local hospice.Zack visited exactly twice, both times with coffee for himself and some excuse about traffic or work or whatever kept him from being there more.

Grandma never complained, just squeezed his hand like it was the best thing in the world that he had shown up at all.

She died on a clear Tuesday afternoon while I was sitting next to her, reading aloud from one of those mystery novels she liked where the killer is always the neighbor with the perfect lawn.

Bailey was curled on the floor by the bed, and when her breathing stopped, he lifted his head, looked at her for a long second, and then let out this soft, broken sound that I didn’t know a dog could make.

I stayed there through the paperwork, the calls, the awkward condolences from neighbors carrying casseroles.Bailey stayed too, pressed against my ankles like he was afraid I would vanish if he moved.

At night, he refused to sleep unless I kept a hand on him, his fur getting damp from my tears.

So when Mr. Harper, Grandma’s lawyer, called to schedule the will reading, I already knew I would be there, dog and all.

I did not think much about what I would inherit.

Grandma had a modest house, some savings, maybe a life insurance policy, but nothing that screamed secret fortune.

Honestly, I assumed everything would be split between Zack and me, and that would be that.

Zack, however, walked into that office like he was claiming a prize he had already spent in his head three times.He was wearing this black designer tracksuit with shiny stripes, a big watch that flashed every time he gestured, and sunglasses, even though we were indoors and it was cloudy.

The first thing he said to me was, “Try not to cry when you get Grandma’s spoon collection, okay?”

I rolled my eyes and focused on Bailey, who was half under my chair, shaking so hard the metal legs rattled.

I scratched his neck and whispered, “We are fine, buddy, I promise,” even though my stomach felt like a knot of wires.

Mr. Harper cleared his throat, settled his glasses, and started reading.

He went over some small bequests first, things for the church, for a neighbor, for my mom.

Then he said, “To my grandson, Zack, I leave one $100,000 in cash and bonds, my antique china set, my jewelry, and all proceeds from the sale of my home.”

Zack leaned back like a king on a throne, folded his arms, and gave me this smug little sideways smile.

“See?” he whispered. “Told you Grandma knew who the real favorite was.”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat and kept rubbing Bailey’s ear.

Then Mr. Harper turned a page, looked at me, and said, “To my granddaughter, Lily, I leave my beloved dog, Bailey.”

For a second, I thought I had misheard him.

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