"You don't have to be the hero, Ash," Simon whispered as she sat down. "That money could pay for Mom’s care for the next decade. Gran would have understood."
Ashlee looked at the blueprints spread across the table. She remembered the smell of old parchment and the way the golden hour light used to hit the mahogany shelves where she’d learned to read. If she signed the papers, the history of her family—and the town—would be leveled by Monday.
The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway hummed at a frequency that seemed to vibrate right through Ashlee’s skull. In her hand, she clutched the manila folder—the "Part 2" to a decision that had kept her awake for forty-eight hours straight.
"Ashlee? The specialist is ready for you," the nurse said, her voice soft but firm.
She walked into the office, but it wasn't just the architect waiting there. It was her brother, Simon, looking anxious.
