The next day, I brought the blankets home. My plan was simple—to wash them and keep them as keepsakes. As I shook one of them out, a small thud startled me. Something hard had fallen to the floor.
My heart raced as I picked up a small brown cloth bag sewn tightly into the lining. Inside were several old savings account books and a few small bars of gold—carefully wrapped and labeled.
Tears filled my eyes. My mother, who had spent her life selling vegetables at the market and mending clothes to make ends meet, had somehow managed to save a fortune—all hidden inside those “worthless” blankets.
When I checked the other two, I found more bags. By the time I finished, I was holding nearly three hundred thousand dollars.
I sat on the floor, shaking. My mother, who had worn the same coat for twenty years, had quietly saved every cent for us.
She had hidden her love, her sacrifice, and her life’s work in plain sight.
When the Truth Came Out
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!”
“I didn’t hide anything,” I replied quietly. “I found it yesterday. I was going to tell you on her death anniversary.”
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.”
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.
