Back in the city, my brother and aunts began to fight almost immediately — arguing over shares, accusing each other of greed, dragging lawyers into every conversation.
Meanwhile, I returned to the cottage. Each evening, I sat on the porch and listened to the wind moving through the trees. I planted new flowers, painted the shutters, and tended the garden the way my mother once did.
She had known exactly what she was doing.
She hadn’t left me less. She had left me enough — enough love, enough wisdom, enough space to start again.
The Gift That Money Can’t Buy
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