When my mom got sick, my sister, Mia, played the doting daughter, keeping me away. I knew her heart wasn’t in it, but I was powerless. After Mom died, her doctor gave me a note that exposed Mia’s greed and proved Mom’s love for me.
Mom raised Mia and me solo in a rundown apartment, freezing in winter. She worked two jobs, often starving so we could eat. Our neighbor, Mrs. Brown, brought us hot meals, saving us many nights. I grew up seeing Mom’s sacrifices. She got a better job, moved us to a real house, and paid for college. But Mia, too young to remember the lean years, grew selfish, always begging Mom for money, never working, acting like it was owed to her.
One day, Mom called, sounding off. I found her in the den, looking weak, a tea cup cold. “My heart’s bad,” she said. “A year, at most.” I was wrecked, offering to fund treatments, but she said they’d only stretch time. I held her, crying, swearing to be there. “Don’t tell Mia yet,” she said, since Mia was mooching off a guy. I argued, but she wanted to tell her later. A month on, Mia learned the truth when she came for cash after a breakup.
Mia burst into my place, ordering me to stay away from Mom. “You’re after her cash,” she spat. I snapped, “I’m here for Mom, not money.” She laughed, saying Mom loved her more, giving her funds. “I’m moving in to care for her,” she said, vowing to block me. I knew she was scheming, but she stopped my visits, saying Mom was “sleeping” or “at the doctor.” I texted Mom, sneaking over when Mia was out. I brought food and found Mom frail, asking why I’d ditched her. I was pissed—Mia claimed I saw her as a hassle.
Mom said Mia cooked and got meds, thinking she’d changed. I wasn’t fooled, seeing Mia spend Mom’s money. I promised to pay medical bills and met Dr. Hayes to set it up. Bills were huge, more than Mom’s savings, and I questioned Mia’s role. As Mom faded, hospitalized, I spent nights with her, reading and soothing. Mia glared, always there, chasing Mom’s favor. She cornered me, saying Mom’s cash was gone. “I’m paying bills,” I said. “You’re blowing her money.” She didn’t argue, and I walked off.
Mom’s death shattered me. At the hospital, Mia, with a lawyer, demanded the inheritance for “caring.” I roared, “Mom’s dead, and you’re cash-hungry?” I went to Dr. Hayes, who gave me an envelope marked “For My Real Daughter.” It held a new will, giving me everything, plus a hidden account. Mom’s note said: “I saw your heart, Lisa. Stay true. Love, Mom.” I cried, grateful for her wisdom. I’ll live with her love, not Mia’s greed. What do you think of this story? Share it with friends—it might stir their souls.
