Jan swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to unlock the door and hurry inside her mother’s apartment before the neighbors could offer condolences — or complaints. She hadn’t visited in years, and had no desire to linger amongst the cobwebs and complicated memories. Not when she’d rather be home curled up under her fuzzy orange blanket pretending life was normal. A waft of stale air mixed with the unmistakable stench of rotting garbage assaulted her. She braced herself against the mountainous piles of clothes and trinkets she needed to dispose of. A knock, and Dean entered. Hair disheveled, eyes red-rimmed, her brother looked as good as she felt. Tuna mewed and scrambled towards them, knocking an envelope to the floor. Some inheritance this was — a mangy cat and a filthy house. Dean opened the letter. Jan frowned, reading over his shoulder. A tad late, but I’m sorry, kids.