I meant to share my grandmother’s inheritance with my Aunt Jane, despite her lifelong coldness, until her venom showed why she deserved nothing. After my parents died when I was six, my grandma, Edith, raised me in her home, scented with mint and warm bread. She taught me love makes a home. Aunt Jane, living there, was distant. I once made her a purple keychain; she discarded it, saying, “I don’t use junk.” She missed my dance recitals and birthdays, making me feel unwanted, though I hoped we’d grow close.
When Grandma’s health declined, I tended to her—feeding her, reading poetry, driving to doctors. Jane stayed in her room, scrolling her phone, saying caregiving “stressed her out.” She’d complain about loud music, ignoring Grandma’s needs. After Grandma passed, I mourned, holding her hand till the end. At the will reading, Jane showed up late, bored. I inherited the house and $500,000; Jane got a dilapidated shed. Grandma’s letter read: “Lily cared. Jane didn’t.” Jane stormed out, leaving me wrestling guilt, wanting peace.
I decided to give Jane $100,000, hoping it would mend us. I had papers drafted and brought a cupcake and daisies to her shed on her birthday. She glared at me. “What’s this, Lily?” she growled. I smiled, but she snapped, “You’re adopted. You stole our family.” Her words hit hard—she’d always known I wasn’t blood. I shredded the papers. “That was $100,000,” I said. “Grandma knew best.” I left the cupcake and walked away. Jane’s lawyer demanded $200,000 for “hurt.” I sent Grandma’s note: “Jane gets nothing.”
Learning I was adopted hurt, but a private investigator showed Grandma, a distant cousin, adopted me after my teen parents died. She loved me fully, blood irrelevant. I forgave her secret, trusting her love. I’ve contacted far-off relatives, painted Grandma’s house in warm creams, and started our bakery dream, making cupcakes. On my porch, coffee in hand, I honor Grandma’s gifts—love, loyalty, kindness. Jane’s spite gets no share. My bakery’s growing slowly, but it’s mine, built on Grandma’s heart, not the bitterness Jane chose.
