It was not the first email she had received like that. Nasty. Full of anger and assumptions. Her Sister’s comments were designed to hit the Executrix where it hurt. It was clear that both her Brother and Sister thought that She only cared about money. While she desired the “typical” sibling relationship, it was for naught. This would be the last email. As her eyes scanned the words about her allegedly cruel Mother, a familiar lightheadedness flooded over her. Closing her swollen lids, she wiped an annoying cold sweat from her upper lip only for it to return immediately. She would not let them overcome her. In the divorce between her late Mother and very late Father, She had sided with her Mother. They sided with their Father. Mother had never intended the divorce to divide them so, but her love was no match for Father’s poisonous vitriol. The choice to live with her Mom had created an insurmountable chasm within her family that only grew over time. Nausea pooled with a strange dose of disgust, as she read the words, “You’re just being petty about the painting because Daddy loved me more.” Not for the first time, she wondered what 50 year old woman called her father “Daddy”. Really, it was silly that her Brother and Sister had gone to such lengths of personal attacks. The Will was even…well, fairly even. The three parties received an equal share of the sizeable Estate, but the painting that She & her Mother had both loved…the painting was clearly her’s. Wasn’t it? Her Mom had bought the painting when its creator was an unknown starving artist, but not the romantic type. The painter had needed the money for his eventual demise; one that made him unoriginally famous. The work itself reminded Mom of her hometown by the Mediterranean Sea. The vibrant cobalt blue waters melting into the azure sky with a humble little earth tone building nearby. A scene not unlike the one her Mom had grown up in. She had purchased the painting long long ago - just after the divorce. Less as an investment and more out of homesickness, with an added bonus of the ounce of independence post a very controlling marriage. While the Executrix had never personally visited her Mom’s home country - had never had the time - it made her reminiscent of her Mom. Reminded her of bittersweet stories of an idealistic time and people she had never known herself. Whenever her Brother or Sister had heard these stories, they had brushed their Mother off. Any visits or phone calls they paid Mother were purely transactional. Mother had amassed an impressive fortune, which was intact, unlike Father’s, due to of all her scrupulous saving - it would be there’s someday because of the small attentions they paid. Yet, they had no qualms about making fun of their “cheapskate Mother”. Body prickling; she was subconsciously happy they couldn’t see her discomfort right now. This wasn’t the first battle about their Mother’s Estate, but it all seemed to effect her in this way. The Doctor had told her about her high blood pressure well before their…her beloved Mom’s own heart attack. The fatal one that swooped in without a whisper or warning. A pill prescription was provided with classic reminders of: “Take it easy!” “Light exercise” and “Watch your diet”…”Relax!”. The well-meaning “calm downs” seemed to sky rocket the old blood pressure more and more lately. She felt a familiar fluttering while masochistically rereading the email. Her darling Sister had the nerve to itemize her Sister and Brother’s good deeds toward their Mother over the years. Visiting on Christmas, washing Mother’s floor after her hip replacement, the occasional meal out on the town (usually at a place their Mother didn’t even want to go). Tasks not done out of love, but proof that They were deserving of a fortune. Truly even the Executrix didn’t feel like She, herself, was worthy. Her Mother, alone, retrained post-divorce and her Mother, herself, started over. Yes, the Executrix knew after witnessing her Mom’s evolution firsthand. Considering everything, Mom had truly very generous to all of her children - painting or not. The Executrix struggled to take deep breaths while formulating a deserving email reply to her petulant Sister. As her phone incorrectly autocorrected another word, Her chest became heavier. An unfamiliar pain took over. With a final surge of energy, She flung the device - her proverbial body part - across the office. Her Sister’s email itself was an offence in its own rights, but no, not by far, the cruelest. As the Executrix clutched her chest, she reached for the just too distant phone - laying just beneath the litigious landscape. They had stolen her life’s final highlight reel. Instead of the promised movie of fond memories that would include her Son, her Husband, her late Mom - She thought about the Estate drama. The Executrix stressed and worried into death about her mostly estranged siblings. Her husband would later recall finding her with glassy eyes fixed up on the disputed painting; one she had fought so hard to keep and honour her Mother with. Two weeks later, Her husband would deliver a final emotional tribute - with biting words toward the absent Sister and Brother. No caring Aunt or Uncle present at the funeral to console the Executrix’s heartbroken Son. After a supposed grieving period (or so they called it), the Brother and Sister sicced their collective Lawyers on their Executrix’s Estate. Mostly for the painting, but why should the Husband also get their Beloved Mother’s money? “Our Mother didn’t even like Him! (False!)” Since She had passed well after the thirty day period, they would not win. The painting was the Husband’s. And He knew that She would have wanted their Son to have it, so he had valiantly fought for it. However, in the end, it was unbearable to look at. The once calming water way… the building that so reminded Her of her Mother…. Just looking at the painting created such a violent reaction in the Husband. So when the Family had left them alone once and for all, he donated it to the city’s art museum for a mere tax receipt. For the amount of fight, the only one to go visit the painting was her Son - one time, out of a feeling of obligation, when he was an adult. The previously soothing painting only brought acute pain and anger toward his Aunt, Uncle and even his Mother.