Walking into the office of our family lawyer, I could feel the tension in the air. My three brothers, Maya, Tasmin, and Robert, surrounded me anxiously awaiting the reading of our late mother’s will. As we listened intently, none of us knew what to expect. It was a moment that would change everything.

One by one, my brothers opened their envelopes and their expressions said it all – surprise, shock, and denial. Then it was my turn. I received a thin white envelope with a dollar inside. But there was something else, a folded letter. Maya snatched it from my hands and exclaimed, “What the hell, Gabby?” The lawyer gasped. According to the letter, our mother had left everything to me – the house, her money, and even a secret bank account. It wasn’t because I wanted to be the favorite; it was because I had been there for her when she needed someone the most.

But my siblings had already made up their minds. They were too caught up in their own lives to understand why our mother had chosen me. Maya had her own family to take care of, Tasmin worked long hours, and Robert was distant from us. The letter was meant to show them what our mother had been feeling all along – the hurt that followed her until her last breath. Each dollar they received was a message, a reminder of the love they hadn’t given her when she needed it most.

I held that letter in my hands, feeling its weight like a burning coal. I tried to explain that I didn’t ask for any of this, but my words fell on deaf ears. My brothers ignored me for weeks. It felt like a deep chasm had formed between us.

But eventually, they reached out not to fight but to talk. We gathered at Mom’s house, reminiscing about old times and sharing stories. Slowly, the distance between us began to shrink. We decided to turn Mom’s house into a family home, a place where we could all come together. We agreed to split her savings equally, not for extravagant purchases, but as a safety net for each of us. It wasn’t about the money; it was about rebuilding our family and honoring our mother’s memory.

In the end, I realized that Mom’s last lesson wasn’t about favoritism or wealth. It was about understanding how she felt in her final months. She wanted us to remember the importance of forgiveness, love, and being there for each other. It wasn’t an easy or quick process, but slowly, we found our way back to each other. We now make it a point to have family meals at each other’s houses once a month, cherishing the time we have together no matter how busy life gets. It has become a new ritual, and I know Mom would be proud.

So, if you were in my shoes, what would you have done? Would you have kept the money and the house?