I cared for my stepmom for weeks after her surgery. Her real son was “busy working.” Soon after, she died. Her will left him everything… He said, “Don’t be surprised! Stepkids are temporary. Blood is forever!” I stayed quiet, not because I agreed, but because the weight of her loss was already enough to carry. I had spent long, exhausting days preparing her meals, guiding her through each slow walk around the living room, and reassuring her when the pain made her doubt she’d heal. I never expected anything in return—just the small comfort of knowing she didn’t feel alone. His gloating words stung, yet I let them pass, believing time would reveal its own truths.
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