Chapter 2 - The FolderThen one forgotten folder changed everything.
We had gone out to dinner for my aunt's birthday. Afterward, I noticed Mom had left a folder behind. I picked it up intending to return it. At home, one of the documents slipped partly out. My name caught my attention. There was a blue line drawn straight through it.
I should have put the papers back. Instead, I opened the folder.
They were estate documents. My parents had changed their will. The house was going to Wesley. Their savings were going to Wesley. Their jewelry was going to Wesley. Nearly everything they owned had been assigned to him.
Then I found the section about Grandma Rosalind's piano. That one hurt the most. Grandma had taught me to play when I was a little girl. Some of my happiest childhood memories were sitting beside her on that bench while she guided my hands over the keys. I had always believed the piano would someday stay with me.
Instead, that was going to Wesley too.
Then I saw the handwritten note beside my name. It was Dad's handwriting.
She already has enough. Wesley needs us more.
Wesley needed them more? He was forty-two years old. Healthy. Able to work. He simply chose not to. He lived downstairs in my parents' house without paying rent. Meanwhile, I regularly worked close to sixty hours a week running my design company. Apparently, because I had built a stable life for myself, that meant I deserved nothing. Yet my success somehow also meant I was responsible for paying everyone else's bills.
I drove to my parents' house that evening. I placed the folder in the middle of their dining room table. Mom immediately knew what I had found.
"Were you planning to tell me?" I asked.
She barely looked guilty. Instead, she seemed annoyed. "You don't need an inheritance, Priya."
"That isn't the point."
"Wesley has always struggled more."
"Wesley doesn't struggle. Wesley refuses to work."
Dad's expression hardened. "Watch how you speak about your brother."
"I'm paying part of your mortgage while he lives downstairs for free."
"We raised you," Dad snapped.
"And for years, I've been helping support you."
Mom folded her arms across her chest. Then she said the sentence I would never forget.
"You make good money. You can afford it."
May you like
I became completely quiet. That was when I finally understood. They didn't consider the money I sent a gift. They considered it their money. Something they were entitled to simply because I had it.
I didn't ask them to change the will. I didn't yell. I didn't cry. I picked up my bag and went home.
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