Before Dad passed away, it was always just the three of us: me, him, and my older sister, Sarah. Sarah was 35, though she was rarely ever home, and even when she was, she never really acted like family. She always seemed distant, preoccupied with her own life, and uninterested in the simple joys and routines that Dad and I shared. Dad and I were inseparable. We’d spend hours working in the garden, watching old movies, and just talking about everything and nothing. He was my rock, my confidant, and my best friend. Sarah, on the other hand, seemed to exist in a completely different world. She was always chasing after something – a new job, a new relationship, a new adventure – and never seemed to find any lasting happiness. Dad always tried to reach out to her, to bridge the gap, but she always kept him at arm’s length. I never understood why she was so cold and distant, but I always held onto the hope that one day, she would come around and we could be a real family. But that day never came.
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Then, two weeks ago, Dad died. The pain was unbearable. It felt like a part of me had been ripped away. We were incredibly close, unlike my distant sister. I was the one who took care of him, who made sure he was comfortable, who held his hand in his final moments. Sarah showed up for the funeral, of course, but she seemed more like a detached observer than a grieving daughter. I tried to talk to her, to share my memories of Dad, but she just nodded politely and excused herself to talk on the phone. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of resentment towards her. Where was she when Dad needed her? Where was she when I needed her? Why did she only show up now, when it was too late?
At the will reading, the unthinkable happened. He left her the entire house – the house we had both grown up in, the house filled with memories, the house that was supposed to be my sanctuary. And he only gave me his old watch. I nearly cried holding it – it felt like him, his warmth, his presence. But the injustice of it all was overwhelming. How could he do this to me? After everything I had done for him, after all the love and care I had given him, how could he leave everything to Sarah, who had barely lifted a finger? I tried to rationalize it, to tell myself that there must be a reason, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal. It felt like Dad was telling me that my love and devotion were worthless. That Sarah, the distant, uncaring daughter, was more deserving of his inheritance than I was.
A few days later, still reeling from grief and disbelief, I came home from work to find my bags packed. I walked in, expecting to find some semblance of normalcy, but instead, I was met with a scene that shattered my world. My suitcases were sitting in the hallway, filled with my belongings. Sarah was standing there, arms crossed, with a cold, hard look in her eyes. She looked at me without flinching and said, “This is it. Our paths split here.” My heart stopped. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought this was my home.
Panicking, I called our lawyer, Mr. Thompson, hoping for some kind of explanation or intervention. I explained the situation, my voice trembling with fear and desperation. I poured out my heart, telling him about Dad’s will, about Sarah’s coldness, about the eviction. But instead of offering comfort or reassurance, he laughed. A cruel, mocking laugh that echoed in my ears.
“Unbelievable,” he said, still chuckling. “Just like your father predicted. Come in tomorrow. I have some… interesting documents for you to see.” His words were cryptic, his tone unsettling. I hung up the phone, my mind racing with confusion and dread. What did Dad predict? What interesting documents could Mr. Thompson possibly have? The lawyer then revealed that my Dad suspected she was only after the money and the house – he set it up so she would only inherit the house but if she kicked me out she would lose the house to charity.
Now I am working with the lawyer to kick her out and give the house to a local homeless shelter in dad’s name. I am now staying at a friend’s place, but I am determined to see this through. I will not let Sarah get away with her greed and selfishness. I will honor my father’s wishes and ensure that his legacy is one of love and compassion, not betrayal and greed.
