All my life I’d been second best. Despite straight A’s and doing everything right, my parents always favored my sister, Stacy, the swim‑meet superstar. I was invisible—only my grandmother truly saw me, nurturing me with love and warmth.
When I graduated, my parents kicked me out—but Grandma helped me into college, and I eventually repaid her from my first job. I married Henry, though Grandma disliked him. Soon she expressed concern: were Henry’s affairs real? I shook it off—until she told me she’d seen him with Stacy.
That night I returned home early—and found them in my bed. Henry and Stacy showed no remorse; instead they blamed me. Henry insisted he was divorcing me, and that maybe the baby I was carrying wasn’t his. I packed up and left.
Grandma took me in again. Weeks later, the doctor confirmed she had only months left. She passed when I was eight months pregnant. At her funeral, I discovered her will left everything to me and my child—with a note: “For always being there.”
Stacy later showed up, destitute and asking for help. But after everything—Henry, the betrayal—I refused. I offered just a lawyer referral. I finally stood up for myself.
Now I’m alone with my baby, filled with gratitude for Grandma’s love and legacy—and determined to make her proud.