Dad always said, “Blood is thicker than water, Amelia.” For 23 years, I never doubted him. Then six weeks ago, he died. The grief was overwhelming.
My sister Alicia organized everything—funeral, estate. I thought I could trust her. A few days later she suggested I sign my share of our house over to her for “simplicity,” promising I could stay and split future profits. I agreed.
A couple of weeks later, I was asleep when strangers—potential buyers—entered our house. Upset, I called Alicia: she’d already listed and begun selling it. She demanded I move out immediately. I packed my essential belongings and left, heartbroken and blindsided.
At work, I learned from Dad’s attorney that Dad had secretly left me $300,000 and anticipated Alicia might betray me. He protected me.
I didn’t tell Alicia about the money. She later informed me that the house burned down under suspicious circumstances. She lost everything she sought to gain, and while she was remorseful, the memories and our bond were gone.
Now I live in a small apartment, starting anew. Dad was right about family—but trust is the foundation, and once it cracks, blood alone can’t fix it.