“The money isn’t much, but I want my children to live in righteousness and harmony.” A Mother’s Last Lesson That Changed Everything

After the funeral, my two older brothers and I gathered in the small house where we had grown up. The air was still heavy with the scent of incense and grief.

We sat in silence, surrounded by the few belongings that once filled our childhood home with warmth. There wasn’t much—an old wardrobe, a few faded photos, and three wool blankets neatly folded in a corner.

Those blankets had seen everything. The winters when we slept huddled together, the nights when our mother stayed up mending torn edges, the mornings when she covered us before leaving for the market.

I looked at them and felt my throat tighten. To me, they were sacred pieces of our past. But to my brothers, they were nothing more than clutter.

My eldest brother scoffed.
“Why keep these old things? They’re worthless.”

The second nodded, waving his hand dismissively.
“Who would bother with that junk? Whoever wants them can take them. I’m not hauling trash.”

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