So when I sat in the lawyer’s office, surrounded by relatives who had barely shown up except when money was involved, I believed that maybe, just maybe, she had seen me. That she knew what those years had cost — and what they had meant.
But as the lawyer read the will, I listened in disbelief.
Me? I received an envelope.
A small, cream-colored one with my name written in her careful handwriting.
The Envelope
The room buzzed with excitement as my relatives whispered about their new wealth. They barely noticed me when the lawyer handed me the envelope.
He placed it gently in my hands and said quietly, “Your mother loved you more than anyone.”
I nodded, though my throat was too tight to speak.
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