I’m Mia, 26, and I moved away from home four years ago to break free from a family where I never fit. My parents always favored my brother, Lucas, leaving me in his shadow. My grandma, Clara, was my light, sneaking me candy and listening to my dreams. When my partner, Jake, suggested a fresh start in the city, I left behind Lucas, my parents, and old wounds. Contact with my family dwindled, but Grandma Clara’s calls kept me grounded, her warmth a reminder I mattered.
One evening, I stumbled across a social media post: Grandma Clara’s picture with “In Loving Memory.” My chest tightened—no one had told me she’d passed. Hurt and angry, I booked a flight to say goodbye at her grave. In my hometown, I stopped cold, seeing Lucas in a glossy black convertible. Lucas, who worked odd jobs, could afford that? Suspicion grew. At Grandma’s grave, her friend Mr. Cole greeted me. “Did you get the $18,000 she left you?” he asked. I froze. “What?” His face fell, and I knew—Lucas had taken it.
Fuming, I drove to Lucas’s trailer, ready for a fight, but gasped. The convertible was totaled, front smashed, tires flat. Lucas stood nearby, crutches propping him up, face scratched, arm in a sling. Life had already punished him. “What happened?” I asked, anger wavering. He muttered, “Crashed it.” I demanded, “Why’d you steal Grandma’s money?” He confessed he took it for the car, thinking he’d return it later. “You had no right,” I said. “She chose me.” Lucas always got our parents’ praise, but this was mine. He looked down, speechless.
My phone buzzed—Grandma’s lawyer, Mr. Lane. “Mia, Clara expected Lucas might do this,” he said. “The $18,000 was a test. Her house, investments, everything else—it’s yours.” I choked back tears. Grandma had safeguarded my future. I looked at Lucas. “Hope you enjoyed that ride.” He stammered, but I turned away, feeling strong. Grandma’s love had outshone his betrayal. If someone took what was yours, would you believe fairness would catch up?
