She left everything to me, her only grandchild. Not to her three kids.
Grandma Dorothy raised me from age seven when my parents split and neither one wanted the hassle. My mom, her daughter, dropped me off “for the summer” and picked me up four years later. Dorothy never once made me feel like an inconvenience.
My aunts and my mom spent the last decade barely calling her. They showed up for holidays when it was convenient, sent flowers instead of visits, and complained about her “getting difficult” every time she asked for help with groceries or doctor appointments. I moved in with her two years ago when her hip surgery went bad. I quit a job to do it.
At the notary office, the lawyer read through the house, the savings, her late husband’s pension. All to me. My mom’s face went white. My aunt Denise stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor and said, “This is INSANE, she wasn’t even in her right mind.”
The notary said Dorothy had a video statement attached, recorded four months before she died, explaining her reasons.
My mom grabbed my arm and said, “Don’t you dare play that thing.”
The notary looked at me. “It’s addressed specifically to your mother and your aunts. She asked that it only be played if there was, quote, ‘trouble.'”
I looked around the room. Denise was shaking. My mom’s grip on my arm was starting to hurt. My other aunt, Carol, hadn’t said a single word since the reading started – she just kept staring at the folder like it was going to bite her.
I reached over and pressed play.
If you enjoyed this story, you might find yourself similarly shocked and entertained by The Doctor Told Her to Stand Down. She Grabbed the Syringe Anyway. or even My Ex-Husband Thought His Family Owned My Company. And for another wild tale, check out The Insurance Company Marked a 9-Year-Old Dead. She Was in My Waiting Room..
