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
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