When my mom fell ill, my sister, Tara, swooped in, acting like the perfect daughter while keeping me at arm’s length. I knew she was up to something, but I couldn’t stop her. After Mom passed, her doctor gave me a note that revealed Tara’s true motives and Mom’s unwavering love.
Mom raised Tara and me alone in a drafty old apartment, working two jobs to keep us fed. I remember cold nights when she’d skip dinner, giving us the last scraps. Our neighbor, Mrs. Lee, would drop off hot meals, her kindness saving us. As I grew up, I saw Mom’s sacrifices clearly. She got a better job, moved us to a real home, and put us through college. But Tara, too young to recall the hard times, grew up selfish, always hitting Mom up for cash without a job, acting like money grew on trees.
One day, Mom called me over, sounding off. I found her in the kitchen, looking worn, a tea mug cold. “The doctor says my heart’s giving out,” she said. “A year, tops.” I was gutted, offering to pay for any treatment, but she said it’d only delay the end. I held her, sobbing, vowing to stay close. “Keep it from Tara for now,” she said, since Tara was mooching off a boyfriend. I argued, but she wanted to tell Tara herself. A month later, Tara learned the truth when she came begging for money post-breakup.
Tara barged into my place, ordering me to stay away from Mom. “You want her inheritance,” she sneered. I shot back, “I’m here for Mom, not money.” She laughed, saying Mom favored her with cash, proving her love. “I’m moving in to care for her,” she said, banning me from visiting. I knew she was scheming, but she blocked me with lies like “Mom’s asleep” or “she’s at the clinic.” I texted Mom, sneaking over when Tara was out shopping. I brought food and found Mom weak, asking why I’d abandoned her. I was livid—Tara claimed I saw her as a burden.
Mom said Tara cooked and fetched meds, thinking she’d changed. I wasn’t buying it, seeing Tara blow Mom’s money. I promised to pay medical bills and met Dr. Cole to set it up. The bills shocked me—way more than Mom’s savings could cover. As Mom’s health faded, I visited her in the hospital nightly, holding her hand. Tara glared, always there, fishing for Mom’s approval. She cornered me, saying Mom’s cash was gone. “I’m covering bills,” I said. “You’re spending on yourself.” She didn’t deny it, and I walked away.
Mom’s death crushed me. At the hospital, Tara and her lawyer claimed she’d get everything for “caring.” I snapped, “Mom’s gone, and you’re counting coins?” I stormed to Dr. Cole, who gave me an envelope marked “For My Real Daughter.” Inside was a new will, giving me everything, including a hidden account. Mom’s note said: “I knew your love was true, Kate. Stay kind. Love, Mom.” I cried, grateful for her wisdom. I’ll live with her heart, not Tara’s greed. What do you think of this story? Share it with friends—it might spark a conversation.
