🔴 MARTHA SAID “YOU ALWAYS WERE HER FAVORITE” AT THE READING OF THE WILL
I nearly choked on the stale church cookies when I heard those words fall out of her smug face.
The air in that room felt thick and smelled like old paper and lilies; everyone was staring at me. Aunt Carol left *everything* to Martha, the cousin who never visited, the one who always judged Mom’s “life choices” — and I got nothing.
“It’s what Carol would have wanted,” the lawyer droned on, but all I could hear was Martha’s whisper echoing: “You always were her favorite.” The worst part is, Martha always hated how close my mom and Aunt Carol were! Now my inheritance is nothing and I’m so angry.
Then I heard Martha’s nasty cackle: “I have some photos I can show you, maybe then you’ll understand,” and that’s when she pulled out a faded, ripped photo from the seventies.
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My heart hammered against my ribs. Photos? What photos could possibly explain this? I grabbed the offered picture with trembling fingers. It showed Aunt Carol and Mom, young and vibrant, laughing at something just out of frame. But there, barely visible in the background, leaning against a beat-up Volkswagen Beetle, was Martha. She looked… different. Younger, certainly, but also… happier? Less judgmental.
“See?” Martha’s voice sliced through the silence. “They were always together. *We* were always together. You just didn’t know about it.”
Suddenly, the lawyer cleared his throat. “There’s another document, filed just before Ms. Carol’s passing. It wasn’t considered relevant to the initial will reading.” He shuffled through his papers and pulled out a small, sealed envelope. “This is addressed to… you,” he said, looking at me.
My hands fumbled with the seal. Inside, a single sheet of paper. It was a letter, penned in Aunt Carol’s familiar, looping handwriting.
*My Dearest (Your Name),*
*If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone, and Martha holds the reins. I know it seems unfair, but please, hear me out.*
*Martha isn’t the enemy. She’s been a friend to me for a long, long time, before you were born. We shared secrets, laughter, and a bond you couldn’t possibly understand. The life I built, the choices I made… they wouldn’t have been possible without her. The will may seem cruel, but it was designed to protect something precious: a secret we both held dear.*
*In the envelope, you’ll find the keys to a storage unit. Inside is a legacy you deserve to discover. A legacy I promised Martha that I would eventually entrust to you. A family secret.*
I looked at Martha, and for the first time, I saw not malice, but a weary sadness in her eyes. She nodded, her gaze fixed on me, and pointed a finger toward the storage unit.
The lawyer, looking uncomfortable, directed us to its location. With trembling hands, I inserted the key and pulled open the heavy metal door. Inside, bathed in a shaft of sunlight, wasn’t riches, but a collection of boxes and a wooden trunk. On one of the boxes, in Carol’s handwriting, was a single word: *Heritage.*
Hours later, the air in the church had cleared of the scent of old paper and lilies. Inside the storage unit, Martha and I were carefully examining the contents of the trunk. It was filled with old photographs, letters, and a multitude of items. One photo stood out – Martha, Aunt Carol and a child – my mother.
As I sifted through the contents, a shared history began to unfold. Martha wasn’t a rival; she was a sister, a confidante, my mother’s oldest and closest friend. The shared laughter and the secrets, were suddenly clear. The final box held a small, antique music box, carved with the same flower that had been placed on Aunt Carol’s casket. As I cranked the handle, the sweet, familiar melody of my mother’s favorite song echoed through the unit.
The will wasn’t a betrayal. It was a gesture of love and a final act of protection. It was a beginning, not an end. Martha and I shared a long moment. Then, as I embraced Martha, I knew one thing: I had not lost family today, but had instead discovered one that had always been there.