Losing my parents changed everything, but it wasn’t until the will was read that I realized how truly alone I was.
My name’s Rachel. I’m 19. Last fall, my parents died in a car crash. After the funeral, the house felt unbearably empty.
At the will reading, my Aunt Dina — someone we barely knew and who disliked my mom — was named the owner of the house. I was shocked; my parents would never have chosen her.
Days later, she showed up at my door, told me to leave within a day, and claimed I was now her tenant. I pleaded, but she didn’t care. I packed my things, heartbroken, surrounded by memories.
Just as I was leaving, a limousine pulled up — my Uncle Mike, someone I hadn’t seen in years. He showed up with proof that Dina had forged the will. Police arrived; Dina was arrested for fraud.
Months later, the court confirmed there was no valid will, so I was the rightful heir. The house was legally mine, and Dina’s records were erased. Mike even sued her for damages. I learned she now lives in a rundown apartment.
Now I’m home — fixing up the house, planting herbs, and the peace lily my mom kept has bloomed. Uncle Mike visits; he helps and reminds me I’m stronger than I think. I still miss my parents, but I’m building a future here.