When my mom battled cancer, I was there for her every step of the way. She was not just my mother but also my best friend. I provided her with care and comfort until her final days, while my brother and aunts seemed to be present only when they needed something. It felt unfair, but little did I know that there was more to the story.

After my mother passed away, the truth unfolded. The inheritance, the loss, and the dynamics of our family created a recipe for drama. Let me share with you what happened next.

My mother had fought cancer for a long time. Looking back, it had always been there, even during my formative years and when I attended the local community college. I remember the endless cycle of days blending into nights as she battled the illness. I was there, spoon-feeding her and holding her hand, finding solace in the small gestures of love and care.

On the other hand, my brother and aunts only appeared when they needed something from my mother. They wanted their expenses covered or sought her help to find a new house. It was outrageous. Despite their demands, my mother tried her best. Unfortunately, the disease eventually took over.

Fast forward to the day of the will reading. We gathered in a room, reminiscent of a scene from a heartfelt movie, with wooden furniture and an ancient coffee table. As I sipped weak tea from a chipped teacup, the lawyer dropped a bombshell. My mother’s savings, a substantial amount of $5 million, were to be split between my brother and aunts. I was left with nothing. Tears streamed down my face, staining my white skirt, as I couldn’t fathom what was happening. The greed in the room was palpable.

But then something unexpected happened. The lawyer handed me an envelope and revealed that my mother loved me more than anyone else. As the room fell silent, filled with anticipation, I opened the letter. Inside, I found an address and a key written on a single piece of paper. Confused yet curious, I decided to see what awaited me.

Accompanied by the tight-lipped lawyer, I arrived at the address, which turned out to be a hidden gem of a house. It was a beautiful home with my favorite flowers lining the walkway. My mother had left me a fully paid-for house! The place was adorned with pictures of us, evoking memories of love and warmth. There was another letter on the glass table in the entrance hall, ready to reveal the truth.

It turned out that my mother had known about my brother and aunts’ money-draining ways. She wanted me to have a place to build a future and create new memories. She understood that love and family were far more precious than money. She deliberately gave them the inheritance, fully aware that they would exhaust it quickly. It was her way of teaching them the importance of things and the significance of family bonds, which would endure long after the money vanished.

Now, standing in my new kitchen and savoring a cup of coffee from the dream espresso machine, I realize that my mother’s love was never about the money. It was in this house, filled with her spirit and the warmth of our memories. This unexpected gift holds more value to me than anything else.

Hey, Mom, you still know best.