The day I got the call my world ended—my parents died in a car crash. At the will reading, I learned everything was gone, spent on “treatments,” and the house was left to my aunt Dina, who always disliked me and wasn’t even at the funeral. Two days later she gave me 24 hours to leave.
I packed their photos and my childhood things, each memory painful. The next morning, after I’d been forced out, a black limo appeared. A solemn man offered condolences and revealed a shocking truth: I was adopted. The money wasn’t treatments—it was to pay my biological mother to stay away. My parents funded it for years.
He said Dina knew everything. My parents had arranged for her to evict me so I’d meet this lawyer and learn the truth. Now the payments had stopped, and my biological mother wanted contact.
I was crushed—raised by people who lied, manipulated, and even in death set up a cruel way to tell me I wasn’t truly theirs. I was alone.