After their passing, my brother and I sat together in the lawyer’s office, the air heavy with quiet grief. We expected the formalities, maybe even a few surprises, but nothing prepared us for what we heard next.
The estate — the house, the savings, every asset — was left entirely to a charity. Not one line mentioned us.
I didn’t. Neither of us did.
We left that office in silence, our emotions tangled — confusion, hurt, disbelief. How could our parents, who had always valued family above all, make such a choice?
For weeks, I replayed every memory, every conversation, looking for clues. I felt like the ground beneath me had shifted. Were we not enough? Did they doubt our love?
Searching for Answers
I spent days sorting through their belongings, trying to make sense of what felt like betrayal. The smell of my mother’s rose perfume lingered in her closet; my father’s old reading glasses sat neatly on the table beside his armchair. Everywhere I turned, their presence was alive, but their reasoning remained a mystery.
Then one afternoon, as I was leafing through my mother’s old recipe books, a folded envelope slipped out and landed on the counter. On the front, written in her elegant handwriting, were the words: For our children.
My heart raced as I opened it. Inside was a short, handwritten note — one that would change everything I thought I knew about inheritance.
The Letter
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