My mom died and left me nothing. My stepdad got the house and kicked me out. His son laughed at me, saying, “She never loved you or saw you as real family.” I didn’t argue. I packed my things and left quietly, mostly because I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.
A week later, my stepdad called me crying and said, “Please come here fast.” I thought something terrible had happened and went right away.
When I got there, I froze when he showed me a small locked box my mom had hidden behind her dresser. Inside were handwritten letters addressed to me and a few pieces of jewelry she always wore: her wedding ring, a gold bracelet, and some cash wrapped in an envelope.
In the letters, she explained that she was scared of family drama after her death, so she set this aside just for me. She wrote about how proud she was of me and how I would always be her child, no matter what anyone said.
My stepdad apologized, admitting greed and grief had taken over him. He said he believed the lies he told himself because it was easier than facing the truth. The money didn’t matter much to me, but the letters did. They were proof that my mom loved me deeply.
