I stared at her. “You took something that didn’t belong to you.”
“It was just a car, Natalie.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “To you. To me, it was the first time anyone in this family truly acknowledged my worth. And you handed it off like it was nothing.”
She had no reply.
“I didn’t turn anyone against you,” I said. “You did that yourself.”
Her voice dropped. “He’s giving you everything.”
“No,” I corrected. “He’s trusting me with everything. That’s not the same thing.”
After she left, I sat alone with that realization.
People like my mother and sister believed love meant entitlement. Grandpa saw something different—who showed up, even when no one demanded it.
A month later, my grandfather passed peacefully in his sleep. The service was modest and respectful. I delivered the eulogy.
Afterward, the lawyer read the will.
My mother’s confidence held—until my name was announced as executor, trustee, and primary heir.
She didn’t react. Just sat there, rigid and blinking.
Lucy walked out before it was over.
I stayed behind. Alone in the lawyer’s office. Quiet. Thinking.
My grandfather hadn’t just chosen to reward someone.
He had chosen to truly see someone.
And for the first time in my life, I no longer felt unseen.
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