It was in that moment that something inside me changed. For 70 years, I had been a submissive woman who swallowed her pride and put others before herself. I had accepted humiliation, disrespect, mistreatment, always thinking it was my duty to suffer in silence. But that phone call woke me up.
Ethan didn’t see me as his mother. He saw me as an ATM. Ashley didn’t respect me as the woman who had raised her husband. She saw me as a rival to be eliminated. Carol wasn’t grateful to me for having cared for Ethan for decades. She saw me as a nuisance from the past.
I walked to my bedroom and opened my dresser drawer. There, at the bottom, was an envelope I hadn’t touched in years. An envelope containing documents Ethan had never seen, documents that proved something he had never suspected. I took out the papers with trembling hands: certificates of deposit, property deeds, insurance policies, the inheritance from my father, which I had kept secret for decades, the assets I had accumulated by working not only at the garment factory, but also by intelligently investing every extra cent.
Ethan thought I was a poor retiree living on a miserable pension. He had no idea that his adoptive mother owned properties valued at hundreds of thousands of dollars. He didn’t know I had bank accounts at three different banks. He didn’t suspect that the woman he had just publicly humiliated was wealthier than his precious mother-in-law, Carol.
I smiled for the first time in months. Ethan wanted to know what it was like to have a real mother. Ashley wanted to see how much money she could get out of me. Carol wanted to erase me from my son’s life. Very soon, all three of them were going to find out who they were dealing with.
I picked up the phone and dialed a number I had saved for years.
“Law office of Miller.” A professional voice answered.
“This is Stephanie Herrera. I need to speak with Mr. Miller urgently. It’s about a family inheritance.”
Mr. Miller saw me in his office three days later. He was an elegant man in his 50s with whom I had worked years ago when my father died.
“Mrs. Herrera,” he said, shaking my hand. “It’s been a long time. How can I help you?”
I sat across from his mahogany desk and took a deep breath.
“I want you to review all of my assets, Mr. Miller. Properties, bank accounts, investments, everything I inherited from my father, and everything I’ve accumulated over the years.”
Mr. Miller opened a thick folder.
“Of course. I remember your father was a very forward-thinking man. Let me review the updated documents.”
While he read, I remembered how I had come to have this hidden fortune. My father had been a hard-working immigrant who bought cheap land on the outskirts of the city when I was a child.
“Someday this will be worth gold,” he used to tell me.
He was right. That land was now in the heart of the financial district.
“Impressive,” Mr. Miller murmured. “You have four commercial properties, two luxury rental apartments, and investment accounts with a total value of…” He paused and looked at me over his glasses. “$840,000, Mrs. Herrera.”
The figure hit me even though I already knew it. $840,000. While Ethan had humiliated me over $19,000, I had nearly a million dollars that he knew nothing about.
“Mr. Miller,” I said with a firm voice, “I want to make some changes to my will.”
For the next two hours, we went over every detail. Mr. Miller took notes as I explained my new decisions.
“I want my son, Ethan, to be removed as the beneficiary of all my assets. In his place, I want to create a charitable foundation for single mothers who adopt children.”
The lawyer raised his eyebrows.
“Are you sure, Mrs. Herrera? That’s a very drastic decision.”
“Completely sure,” I replied. “My son made it very clear at his wedding that I am not his real mother. If that’s the case, then he has no right to inherit anything from a stranger.”
Mr. Miller nodded and continued writing.
“I also want you to prepare an official letter addressed to Ethan informing him of these changes.”
I left the lawyer’s office feeling liberated for the first time in years. I had taken the first step toward reclaiming my dignity, but this was just the beginning. Ethan, Ashley, and Carol had completely underestimated me. They thought I was a helpless little old lady they could trample on. They were about to find out how wrong they were.
That same afternoon, I went to visit one of my properties, a sleek office building in the city center. The manager, Mr. Evans, greeted me with surprise.
“Mrs. Herrera, what an honor to see you here. Is there anything you need?”
I explained that I wanted to see the apartment on the top floor, the penthouse that had been vacant for months.
“It’s a beautiful property,” Mr. Evans explained as we went up in the elevator. “Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, terrace with a panoramic view. We’ve had it listed for rent, but we haven’t found the right tenant.”
When we entered the apartment, it took my breath away. It was spectacular. Marble floors, enormous windows, a modern kitchen that looked like it was out of a magazine.
“Mr. Evans,” I said, “cancel the rental listing. I’m moving in.”
The man looked at me, confused.
“Are you sure, Mrs. Herrera? This apartment rents for $3,000 a month. Your current apartment must cost a fraction of that.”
I smiled.
CONTINUE READING...>>
To see the full instructions for this recipe, go to the next page or click the open button (>) and don't forget to share it with your friends on Facebook.
