The Most Precious Thing
It had been three weeks since Mum died. Two since her funeral.
My sister, Jane, and I had been putting off sorting through Mum’s house ever since our spat about who got her pear crumble recipe. Jane won, in the end. It was her daughter’s favourite, she used to live off the stuff. I’d have been the bad guy if I stole that from her. The last thing I wanted was to be hated by the few family members I had left.