I Heard My Aunt’s Plan to Get My Father’s Inheritance and Made Her Regret It

After my father, Jonah, was diagnosed with Stage 4 leukemia, his health started deteriorating rapidly. I was only twelve years old at the time, and my mother had passed away when I was just nine. Now, at nineteen, the fear of death was constantly looming over us.

Despite his condition, my father tried to put on a brave face for me. “Don’t worry about me, Becca,” he’d say. “I’ll be alright, and even when I’m gone, I’ll be right there with you, like a ghost.”

He’d often burst into laughter until he couldn’t anymore.

But then, a dark cloud appeared in the form of my Aunt Kayla. Her sudden return, cloaked in false concern, raised my suspicions. I hadn’t seen much of Kayla during my childhood, except for that one time she gave me two pairs of socks for my tenth birthday.

When my father received his diagnosis, he tried reaching out to Kayla, but she didn’t bother returning his calls. Then, a few weeks ago, we had a family gathering. My father wanted to discuss his final wishes with his siblings, and he revealed that everything would be left to me in his will.

He took a sip of his watery tea and said, “Everything will go to you, Becca. But I need to know that you’ll be taken care of.”

My uncles reassured him that they would watch over me.

Kayla, however, was absent from the gathering. I knew someone had told her about the will.

One day, she called our landline phone and unleashed her rage. “Being Jonah’s daughter doesn’t give you the right to take everything!” she screamed.

“Aunt Kayla,” I calmly responded. “Maybe you should pay a visit to your brother. But aside from that, there’s nothing else to say. His condition is worsening.”

Kayla didn’t respond. Unbeknownst to her, the call hadn’t ended, and I kept listening.

In a conversation with her husband, she asked, “Gordan, who does that little brat think she is?”

Knowing there would be more insults, I grabbed my phone and started recording.

I knew I had evidence of Kayla’s plan to manipulate my father into changing his will. The next morning, I visited him and played the recording. Shocked, my hands trembled as I hit play.

The next day, Kayla showed up at my house with a package of cookies. She demanded, “Make some coffee, will you?” as she made her way to the living room, now converted into my father’s bedroom.

As I made the coffee, I listened to her comments, feeling my phone burning in my back pocket. The recording was ready.

Kayla persisted, trying to convince my father to change his will. But this time, she lowered her voice to a whisper.

“It’s my business, Jonah,” she said. “Things aren’t going well, and I need to know that even when you’re gone, you’ll still take care of your little sister.”

“Kayla,” my father greeted her, reaching out to hold her hand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I brought the coffee and cookies into the living room, along with my recording. After Kayla left, my father seemed inexplicably content.

“Dad,” I said, “Can I play a recording for you?”

With a frail nod, he helped himself to a cookie.

As I played the recording, Kayla’s true colors were exposed before our eyes. My father sighed.

“Now, Kayla, you won’t even get what I wanted to leave you,” he commented sternly, tinged with a hint of sadness. “Leave and don’t come back.”

Bewildered, Kayla asked, “What were you planning to leave me? Who is Jonah?”

My father waved his hand, signaling me to take her away.

As Kayla disappeared into the darkness, I stayed by my father’s side.

It has been six months since my father passed away. Uncle Dave, my father’s brother, takes care of me and drives me to my father’s grave to bring fresh flowers. I haven’t had any contact with Aunt Kayla, and she didn’t even show up at the funeral.

“You’re better off without her,” Uncle Dave told me when we talked about Kayla.