I thought losing my mother was the hardest thing I’d ever endure until the day I learned what she’d left behind. What looked like a cruel oversight became something I couldn’t ignore, and now I’m glad I never walked away.
I was 29 years old when my mother died, and by then, my life didn’t feel as if it belonged to me anymore.
For three years, my life revolved around her.
I scheduled doctor visits, fought with insurance companies, organized medications, and arranged hospice when the time came. I learned how to read her breathing the way other people read clocks.
I slept on the couch because my bedroom was too far from hers, and I needed to hear her breathe at night.
Every shallow inhale made my chest tighten.
Every pause made me sit upright, heart racing.
Sometimes, in the dark, she would whisper, “Elena?”
“I am here, Mom,” I would say, already on my feet.
She hated how much I did for her. I could see it in her eyes.
“You shouldn’t be sleeping out here,” she told me once, her voice thin. “You need rest.”
“I am fine,” I said, like always.
She never argued.
She just reached for my hand and held it longer than usual.
My brother Mark lived 40 minutes away. He said he “couldn’t get time off work.”
My 32-year-old brother claimed things were hectic.
Over three years, he visited twice.
The first time, he stood in the doorway and frowned. “She looks worse than I thought.”
The second time, he checked his watch and sighed.
“I can’t stay long.” That time, he was around for only 20 minutes. I kid you not.
Mom watched him go without saying a word.
After that, she stopped asking when he would come again.
When she died, I thought the worst part would be the quiet.
I was wrong.
***
The lawyer’s office was small and smelled faintly of stale coffee.
Mark sat across from me, relaxed, his leg bouncing as if this were an inconvenience instead of a funeral follow-up. Thomas, the lawyer, adjusted his glasses and opened the folder in front of him.
When the will was read, I wasn’t thinking about money.
I just wanted proof that our mother saw me.
Thomas cleared his throat and read, “To my son, Mark, I leave the family home, including the land and all structures therein.”
Mark let out a long breath and leaned back, smiling. “Finally,” he said. “That place is a goldmine!”
I stared at my hands.
“If we rezone it, I mean if I could rezone it,” Mark added, glancing at me, “I could double the value.”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
