I Bought My Late Mom’s House So My Sister Couldn’t Tear It down — Then I Found Her Real Will Hidden Inside

digging.

I’m not surprised. I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle the thought of Mom leaving everything to me.”

I didn’t answer. “You always have to make things difficult, Anna,” she snapped.

“My goodness. You really think you’re better than me, huh? Why wouldn’t you just give it a rest?

Mom’s… dead.”

“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t think I’m better than you, but I’ve never lied about a thing, Caitlin.”

She shoved back her chair. “You never had to, Anna.

Mom gave you everything. My entire life was about me living in your shadow… Mom gave you her time, her love, and all her attention. I got the scraps, nothing more.”

“You had a choice,” I said.

“You could have spent those final weeks with her, Caitlin. But it was too much for you! And then you chose to steal.”

My sister’s face flushed.

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to this nonsense,” she said. “No,” I said, folding the will neatly and placing it back in front of her. “But, Caitlin, the court will.”

She left before I could say anything else.

I called Mr. Benson the next morning. By the end of the week, legal proceedings were underway.

The courts froze all assets. The house, the savings, the heirlooms, everything was restored to reflect the original will. Caitlin didn’t contest it; she couldn’t.

I thought that would be the end. But grief doesn’t close neatly. One week later, I climbed into the attic, looking for storage boxes, and saw a small shoebox tucked behind the rafters.

Dust clung to the top like a second skin, but the edges were still firm. Inside were old photographs, letters, faded birthday cards, and the kind of things only a mother would keep — my third-grade report card with a doodle in the corner, a lock of hair from my first haircut, and a worn-out friendship bracelet I hadn’t seen since high school. At the very bottom, beneath a yellowing postcard from Cape Cod, was a final envelope.

“To Anna,” it said, in Mom’s handwriting. I sat right there in the attic and unfolded the letter. The insulation around me crackled quietly in the breeze, and I could hear a wind chime moving softly from the porch below.

“If anything happens to me, I want you to have our home. You were always the one who cared for it, who loved it, and who made it a home. Caitlin may need money, but she doesn’t understand the heart of this place.

You do, my darling. And I trust you to keep it. Caitlin has a box like this, too.

I wrote her a letter too, but I… I didn’t have enough of her belongings. She’d never left anything around for me to keep. You’re the very best part of me, Anna.

Love, Mom.”

I read it once, then again. My throat tightened, and I didn’t realize I was crying until a tear slipped down and stained the corner of the page. Later that night, Caitlin texted me:

“Can we talk?”

I let the message sit there.Continue reading…