I always knew my sister, Charlotte, didn’t care about me. But I never imagined she’d kick me out just two weeks after our father’s funeral.
Growing up, it was mostly just Dad and me. Charlotte, older by 18 years, treated our house like a pit stop—always chasing excitement, barely acknowledging me. I was the unexpected baby, the one Mom left behind, and Dad’s whole world.
So when the lawyer read the will and left me only Dad’s worn-out watch while Charlotte got the house, I was crushed—but not surprised. That watch smelled like him. It was him.
Still, we lived under the same roof for a little while. Until one evening, I came home from work to find my bags packed. Charlotte stood there smugly, telling me to leave. I begged, told her I had nowhere to go. She didn’t care.
Devastated, I called our lawyer, Matthew. To my shock, he laughed—not cruelly, but knowingly. “Your dad saw this coming,” he said, and told me to come in the next day.
What I learned changed everything: Dad had quietly inherited nearly two million dollars years ago. He split it between us—but with a catch. Charlotte only got her share if she agreed to share the house with me. If not, she got nothing.
The clue to accessing my inheritance? Hidden on the back of Dad’s watch.
A few days later, Charlotte called, panicked—the house had debts. Big ones. And she needed help. I simply reminded her of what she told me: “You should have been nicer.”
Now, I’m in a cozy studio apartment near school, thanks to Matthew and Dad’s planning. The house is sold. Charlotte’s fate is unclear. But I’m moving forward—on my terms, with Dad still watching over me.
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