My sister got the house. I got a chessboard. Initially, I thought it was my father’s final jab at me — until I heard something strange rattling inside one of the pieces.
“Life is a chess game,” he used to say. “You don’t win by shouting. You win by seeing three moves ahead.”
I used to roll my eyes at that. But in that moment, I would’ve given anything to hear him say it one more time.
When he passed away in the room where we used to play every Sunday, I didn’t speak. I didn’t speak when the neighbors brought casseroles or when my half-sister Lara arrived, glowing, wearing a coat that probably cost more than the funeral.
“It still smells like him in here,” she said to my mother, a comment that stung more than it should have. Of course, it did. His coat still hung by the door.
Lara wasn’t there to mourn. She was there to take.
We sat side by side, waiting for the reading of the will. The lawyer opened the envelope.
“To my daughter Lara, I leave the house and everything in it,” he read. “The property cannot be sold while the current resident is still living.”
Lara didn’t even glance at me. She just smiled.
“And to my daughter Kate…”
I held my breath.
“I leave my chessboard and its pieces.”
Lara snorted softly, a smirk forming on her lips. “A house for me, a game for you. Fitting, don’t you think?”
I didn’t reply. I just picked up the chess set and walked out. Her laughter echoed behind me. Outside, I wandered aimlessly, the cold wind biting through my sleeves.
Before I knew it, I was at the old park. The chess tables were still there, weathered by time and covered in moss.
I sat down. Opened the box. My fingers moved automatically. Bishop. Knight. Pawn. King.
“You’re really doing this?” Lara’s voice interrupted my thoughts. I didn’t have to turn around. I knew it was her. She sat beside me, settling into the chair as though it belonged to her.
“Still clinging to Daddy’s toys?” she mocked. “You really are predictable.”
She reached out and moved a pawn without asking. I mirrored her move.
We began to play.
“You know,” she said, tilting her head, “he always thought this game taught character. But it’s just wood. Just symbols.”
She moved again. “I got the house. You got a game.”
Pawn. Knight. Bishop.
“You always thought this meant something,” she continued. “But in the end, it’s just wood.”
Her next move came fast, a dramatic flick of her wrist. “Checkmate,” she declared, slamming the knight down with unnecessary flair. Then, with a swift motion, she swept the pieces off the table.
“No point in clinging to illusions.”
The pieces scattered, some bouncing on the stone, others rolling into the grass. One landed near my foot. I picked it up. It felt heavier than I remembered. I shook it gently. Rattle. My breath caught in my throat.
There was something inside!
I looked up, meeting Lara’s gaze. For a moment, I was certain she had heard it too. But she just tilted her head, bored, and turned her eyes away.
“Come to dinner tonight,” she said casually. “Mother wants to honor him properly, as a family.”
I blinked. “Did she really say that?”
“Of course. It’s what he would’ve wanted. We should all be civil.”
Her voice was too calm, too practiced. She turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the pavement.
I was sure of one thing now. Dinner wasn’t an invitation. It was a move. And I was being pulled into her game.
A few hours later, Lara was already in the kitchen, humming and cooking as though she had always done this. She wore an apron — the same one she used to call “tragically domestic.”
“Evening,” she greeted me brightly, pulling out a dish. “Hope you’re hungry. I made rosemary chicken. And there’s a vegan option for Mom.”
I blinked. Our mother glanced up at Lara in surprise. “You cooked?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Lara just laughed. “It’s not hard. I followed a recipe. Even cut fresh parsley for garnish.”
Fresh parsley. Of course.
I sat down, silent, across from Lara. Throughout the meal, she continued her act — serving dishes, refilling glasses, smiling as if nothing had happened earlier.
She never looked directly at me, not until I stood and placed the chessboard on the console. Just behind me. Just in view. Closed. Waiting.
That was my move.
A pawn offered. I wanted to see if she’d flinch. She didn’t, but her smile tightened.
Our mother noticed. “You’ve been unusually sweet today,” she commented to Lara, her voice too deliberate.
Lara smiled even wider. “I’m trying to be better. We’re family, right?”
“Some bonds are stronger than others,” our mother said, eyes not leaving me. “Especially when they’re tested. When people choose to stay and support.”
I forced a smile. “Is that what this is? Support?”
“I just think,” our mother said, pausing before setting down her fork, “that your father… he finally saw who truly stood by him. Who gave him peace.”
“Peace?” I asked, my voice tight. “You mean silence. Compliance. He didn’t want peace — he wanted loyalty.”
“And you think that was you?”
I looked at Lara. “I stayed. I cared for him. I watched him fade.”
“And he left you a game,” Lara sneered.
“Maybe that says more about him than me,” I shot back.
Their mother leaned forward. “He gave Lara the house because she deserved it. She sacrificed more than you know. Maybe it’s time you stopped acting like the victim.”
“I’m not acting. You’re just not used to hearing me speak.”
The silence hung heavy until Lara laughed. “Okay, let’s not ruin dinner. This is supposed to be nice.”
Her mother turned to me. “You should start packing in the morning, just so there are no… complications.”
I stared at them, this fake peace they were trying to sell me. Without a word, I picked up my plate and quietly brought it to the sink. I didn’t say thank you. I didn’t say anything.
I just walked upstairs and locked my door behind me.
Dinner wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
I waited in silence. Then, in the dark, I heard it — the creak of floorboards, a drawer opening, a faint rustle. Lara was crouched over the chessboard, pieces scattered, some cracked open, a paring knife beside her.
One of the rooks was broken in half. A small velvet pouch in her hand, gleaming with stolen pride.
“So,” I said calmly, “It wasn’t just wood after all.”
Lara jumped, then narrowed her eyes. “You knew.”
I didn’t answer. She stood up, defiant, like a stage performer.
“I solved it,” she said. “He left the real gift inside the game. And I found it.”
“You broke it open like a thief,” I retorted.
“I got the meaning. He gave you the board, but he gave me the truth.”
“Do you really think so?”
Their mother stepped out of the shadows. “She figured it out. And you didn’t.”
I looked at both of them — at Lara’s smug satisfaction and her mother’s cold approval. They were already reaching for the stones.
Lara dropped a few glassy stones into her palm. “Check and mate,” she whispered.
I stared at her. “No. Zugzwang.”
“What?”
“It’s a chess term. It means every move you make now only makes things worse.”
Her mother frowned. “What are you talking about?”
I stepped closer and tapped one of the broken pieces. “Glass. From a sewing kit I’ve had since I was fifteen.”
I looked straight at Lara. “You found what I let you find.”
Her face went pale. “You’re lying.”
I pulled out an envelope. “Here’s the deposit confirmation. The real pouch is already locked away, under my name. Safe. Untouchable.”
Lara backed away, her hands trembling. Her mother said nothing.
“And there’s one more thing,” I said, pulling a folded paper from the chessboard case. “My father’s real will. The one he hid because he knew the official one was just the start of the game.”
I read aloud:
“To my daughters…
If you’re reading this, it means the game has played out.
Lara, I loved you fiercely. I gave you much. You had freedom, opportunity, and every chance to show who you are. To your mother — I gave all I could. I hope it brought peace.
Kate — you stayed. You carried the weight. I gave you little but left you the map. That was my last game. My test.
If you are honest, you may live together in peace. If not, everything belongs to Kate.
I gave you all the pieces of me. I needed to see who would protect the whole.”
I folded the letter. The room was thick with silence. I looked at Lara, then her mother.
“Checkmate.”