The moment I saw my brother behind the wheel of a sleek red convertible, I knew something was wrong. I never expected that car to be the key to a betrayal I couldn’t have imagined — and part of a plan Gran had set in motion long before she passed away.

I’m Juniper, now 26, and it’s been four years since I left home. Moving out of state was the best decision I ever made, freeing myself from the family and all the hurt that came with it.

Growing up, I was always overshadowed by my older brother, Maverick. He wasn’t just the favorite — he was the golden child in every way. As for me, I was the “spare,” as Gran used to joke, though her voice always softened when she said it. She was the only one who ever made me feel like I belonged.

That’s part of why I left — to escape the feeling of being invisible. Noel, my boyfriend, had pushed me to move and live for myself, far from the family’s shadows. We packed up our little car and headed for the city, leaving the past behind.

“Noel, I just couldn’t take it anymore,” I remember telling him one night over dinner. His smile was kind as he reached across the table to hold my hand.

“You don’t have to explain, June. You did the right thing. You deserve more than being a second choice,” he reassured me.

In the years since I’d left, my connection with the family had dwindled. The calls stopped, texts became rare, and it felt like my absence didn’t even register with them. The only one who still kept in touch was Gran. She’d call me just to hear about my day, even if it was mundane or messy. She made me feel like I mattered.

Then one day, I found out she had died — by accident. I didn’t hear from my family; I found out through a Facebook post, of all things. Gran’s photo, a date, and a “Rest in Peace” message from an old family friend. I couldn’t believe it. The pain and shock hit me all at once, and the betrayal burned even deeper. How could they not tell me?

Without hesitating, I booked a flight back home. I needed to visit Gran’s grave, to say my goodbyes on my own terms. But as soon as I got back to town, I saw Maverick driving that shiny red convertible. Maverick, who could barely make ends meet, suddenly had a car that looked worth more than his entire life savings. My gut told me something was off.

Standing by Gran’s grave later that day, I struggled to accept that she was really gone. I hadn’t been able to say goodbye, and finding out about her death through a social media post still stung deeply. Just then, Mr. Anderson, Gran’s closest friend, approached me. His face was heavy with sympathy.

“Juniper, I’m sorry. Your Gran was one-of-a-kind,” he said softly.

“She really was,” I replied, fighting back tears. “I just wish I had more time with her.”

After a quiet moment, he looked at me with concern. “Did you get the $20,000 she left you?”

I blinked, shocked. “What?”

“She left you $20,000 in her will,” he said, frowning. “I assumed you knew.”

Suddenly, everything clicked — the red convertible, Maverick’s sudden wealth. Rage surged through me as I realized he had taken the money Gran left for me. My fists clenched as I muttered, “I didn’t know.”

Without wasting a second, I drove straight to Maverick’s trailer, ready to confront him. But when I arrived, the red convertible was wrecked in the driveway, its bumper smashed, windshield shattered, and tires flat. Maverick stood in the doorway on crutches, his face bruised and cut. Karma had already paid him a visit.

“Maverick, what the hell happened?” I asked, my anger momentarily giving way to shock.

He looked away, uncomfortable. “It’s… nothing.”

I gestured at the destroyed car. “That doesn’t look like nothing. Why did you take Gran’s money?”

He winced. “I didn’t mean for it to go like this, Juniper. I was going to pay you back, but then I saw that car…”

“You don’t just ‘borrow’ $20,000 that wasn’t left to you!” I snapped. “Gran left that money for me. She was the only one who cared about me, and you took it like it was nothing.”

Maverick hung his head, unable to respond. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Mr. Clearwater, Gran’s lawyer.

“Juniper, there’s something you should know,” he began. “Your grandmother predicted this might happen. The $20,000 was only a portion of her estate. The rest of it — her house, savings, investments — it’s all yours. She left everything to you.”

I could hardly believe it. Gran had seen this betrayal coming and had protected me, even in death. She had always been looking out for me, reminding me that I mattered.

I turned to Maverick, who stood broken, both physically and emotionally. “I hope that convertible was worth it,” I said, my voice steady. “Because you’ll never take anything from me again.”

And for the first time in my life, I felt like I wasn’t the forgotten one. Gran had made sure of that.