I arrived in a haze of grief to find Samira in the hallway with a lawyer, holding a will and claiming that because she “took care of Mom,” everything belonged to her. I wanted to argue, but my grief left me silent. Instead, I went to see Mom’s doctor.
Dr. Miller met me with kind eyes and handed me an envelope. On the front, in Mom’s familiar handwriting, were the words: For My True Daughter. My hands shook as I opened it. Inside was a newer will, dated months after the one Samira held. Everything—every account and asset—was left to me. There was also a handwritten note: Continue reading…
