It happened on an ordinary afternoon, in their quiet home just outside Chicago—the same house I’d been helping to keep afloat for over five years.
I was there to help my father sort through some paperwork. He and Mom weren’t exactly tech-savvy, and truthfully, I’d been managing their finances for years. I’d never minded. I figured this is what sons are supposed to do.
I hesitated.
I hadn’t gone looking for anything. But as I reached for the next file, three words caught my eye:
Last Will and Testament.
“Everything Goes to Eric.”
I opened it.
Inside were legal papers confirming that everything—and I mean everything—was being left to my younger brother, Eric.
The house. The bank accounts. The investments. Every last cent.
There was a single line saying how much they loved both their children “equally.”
Right.
Equally—except one of those children had never contributed a dime.
I sat there, stunned, staring at the papers with shaking hands. I felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under me—and laughed while doing it.
“So That’s How It Is…”
When my father came into the room and asked why I was taking so long, I didn’t even try to hide the folder.
I held it up and said, “So it’s all going to Eric. Everything. After all I’ve done.”
His face paled, but he didn’t deny it.
“It’s complicated,” he said.
No explanation. No apology.
“You have a good job, Jacob,” she said gently. “You’re strong. Eric… he struggles. We just want to make sure he’s taken care of.”
That was the moment I knew—I wasn’t a son in their eyes.
I was a safety net.
A backup plan. Continue reading…
