Word spread quickly. That evening, both of my brothers appeared at my door, their expressions hard and accusing.
“Are you planning to keep it all?” my eldest demanded. “That money belongs to all of us!”
The second one stepped forward, his tone sharp. “Don’t try to twist this. It’s her inheritance, and we’re entitled to it. You’re not keeping a cent more than your share.”
I listened, fighting the urge to shout. Yes, the money was Mother’s. Yes, it should be shared. But I couldn’t forget how they had treated her in her final years—how they had made excuses instead of visits, how they never sent her anything when she was sick.
Meanwhile, I had done what little I could. I sent money every month, no matter how tight things were. I was there when she needed someone to talk to. I was the one holding her hand when she passed.
Still, I said nothing. The argument lasted days. At one point, my eldest even threatened to take me to court.
But fate—like my mother—had a quiet way of intervening.
The Note That Changed Everything
Continue reading…
