When their grandmother’s will was finally read, the outcome felt almost insulting. Brian, the older brother, inherited her modest countryside house. Linda, the quiet younger sister, was given five old, rusted pocket watches.
Brian didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Five broken clocks?” he scoffed. “That’s what you get for being Grandma’s favorite little helper?”
Linda didn’t answer.
She was nineteen, still in university, still carrying the softness of someone who believed love mattered more than things. Brian, at twenty-six, had long replaced tenderness with calculation. A week earlier, they had both received a call from their ninety-year-old grandmother, Marlene.
“My wish is to see you both,” she had said, her voice thin but steady. “I may not have another chance.”
Linda had arrived first that day. The house smelled of dust and old wood.
Mold crept along the ceiling where rain had leaked through unnoticed. Marlene had grown too frail to keep up with cleaning, too weak to sweep or scrub. When Linda stepped into the bedroom, her breath caught.
Her grandmother looked smaller somehow, swallowed by the pillows. The sparkle that once lived in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by a distant glaze. “Grandma,” Linda whispered, kneeling beside the bed.
“You’re going to be alright. You’re strong.”
Marlene smiled faintly and squeezed her hand. Brian entered moments later, coughing theatrically.
“This room needs air,” he muttered. “Did no one think to clean?”
He stood at the foot of the bed, impatient, as though waiting for a meeting to begin. From beneath her pillow, Marlene slowly pulled out two envelopes.
“Sweethearts,” she said, her voice trembling but deliberate. “I wanted to give these to you myself. Use them wisely.”
Inside each envelope was five thousand dollars.
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