I slid the key into the strongbox and the lid opened. Inside lay a deed to the cabin and four hundred acres of mountain land, in my name, signed by my mother. Beneath it was a thick folder of bank records. Mom had saved quietly for years, and the account, now worth just over six hundred thousand dollars, was held in a trust for me, to release at age twenty-one. Today was my birthday week. Renee must have found out, and that was why she had come back.

Boots stomped onto the porch. I locked the strongbox, tucked the letter in my jacket, and stood in front of the stove with Biscuit at my side. Renee pushed the door open, smiling too brightly, with Dad behind her looking gray. “We came to take you home,” she said. “This was a mistake.” I held up the deed and said, “Mom’s lawyer will be here in an hour. He has been holding the trust for years, and he knows exactly where I am.”

Dad finally spoke. He admitted that Renee had found a letter from Mom’s attorney three weeks earlier and realized the money would pass to me. Renee had insisted that if they left me with nothing, I would sign it all over to her. He broke down crying. Then headlights lit the window again, and the attorney, Mr. Whitfield, stepped in with two sheriff’s deputies. Renee was arrested for attempted fraud and theft. Dad gave back my savings, my keys, and the box with Mom’s glass bird.

I moved into the cabin that spring and rebuilt it with part of the trust. Dad pleaded guilty to taking my money and received probation. He writes to me every month, and I answer when I am ready. Biscuit sleeps by the new stove, and on the window sill, in the morning light, my mother’s tiny glass bird sits right where it belongs.