I always believed that family was forever. That no matter what happened, we would always stand by each other because blood is blood. That’s what family is supposed to do, right?
But after my mother passed away, my sister Barbara proved me wrong.
She walked in with a smug smile and shattered everything I thought I knew. And by the time the truth came out? It was Barbara who was begging for forgiveness. But it was far too late.
My mother raised two daughters: me, Charlotte, and my older sister, Barbara. But Barbara was always the golden child. She could do no wrong in my mother’s eyes. If Barbara wanted something, she got it.
“Mom, I’m craving roast chicken,” she would say, and within hours, the kitchen would be filled with the rich aroma of roasted meat and herbs.
“Mom, can you pick up my dry cleaning?” And my mother would rush out the door without hesitation.
Barbara was beautiful too—stunningly so. She had long, golden hair and piercing blue eyes, just like my mother. She turned heads wherever she went. Meanwhile, I was different. Dark hair, dark eyes, and to be honest, I never really looked like them.
But I never questioned it. I adored my mother, and to me, that was all that mattered.
So when she got sick, I was the one who stayed by her side. I put my life on hold to take care of her. I didn’t complain when she clung to me, her weak fingers leaving bruises on my arms as I helped her to the bathroom. I didn’t complain when she sobbed for hours or when she threw her food across the room in frustration.
Barbara, on the other hand, had other priorities.
“I can’t take care of Mom, Charlotte,” she had said, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. “I have auditions. I have producers to meet. I have to be seen at events. You understand, right? Right, Lottie?”
And, of course, I understood. I always did. While she chased her dreams of becoming an actress, I was the one by our mother’s side, feeding her, cleaning her, holding her when she cried.
Barbara would visit occasionally, sweeping in with expensive clothes and photos of herself with famous actors.
“This is the glamorous life, Mom,” she said one day while our mother lay weak in bed, unable to lift her spoon. Then she turned to me. “And you, Lottie, should really clean up your look. You sit hunched in front of that computer all day. It’s awful for your posture.”
“It’s my job, Barbara,” I replied simply.
And then, one day, my mother was gone.
But before I could even grieve, Barbara came back—
And she wasn’t there to mourn. She was there for our mother’s money.
After the funeral, we met with Alistair, our mother’s lawyer. Barbara walked in like she owned the place, dressed in all black but wearing diamond earrings I had never seen before.
I should have known something was off when she sat down with a smirk.
The lawyer pulled out our mother’s will, but before he could read it, Barbara reached into her designer bag and pulled out an old, folded piece of paper.
“Before you read that,” she said sweetly, sliding the paper across the table, “I have something interesting to share.”
I unfolded it, my heart pounding.
At the top, in bold letters, were the words: ADOPTION DECREE.
Barbara leaned back with a smirk. “Well, well, well. Looks like I finally know why you always looked so different.”
My hands trembled as I read the document over and over.
“You… you’re lying,” I stammered. “You made this up!”
She let out a fake gasp, her nails tapping against the desk.
“Oh, Charlotte,” she said with mock sympathy. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re adopted. You’re not even Mom’s real daughter.” She laughed cruelly. “I always knew those brown eyes had no place in this family.”
I felt sick. Had my mother hidden this from me my entire life?
Barbara crossed her arms. “So, despite Mom’s will saying we split everything, I’ll be making sure you get nothing. You don’t belong, so why should you get anything?”
“Ladies, calm down,” the lawyer said, but his voice was distant. I was too stunned to speak.
That’s when I noticed something—
The name on the adoption paper had been erased. Someone had deliberately removed it.
And that made me suspicious.
I demanded a DNA test. Barbara rolled her eyes. “What’s the point? You know what it’ll say.”
But when the results came back?
Barbara was the one who wasn’t biologically related to our mother.
Shocked, I went to my Aunt Helen, my mother’s younger sister. When I told her, she finally broke down.
“Your mother never wanted you both to know,” Aunt Helen whispered. “She was afraid of how much it would hurt you.”
“Hurt us?” I asked. “Hurt us about what?”
She sighed, eyes glistening with tears. “Barbara wasn’t Mom’s biological daughter, Lottie.”
I froze. “What?”
“Your mother found Barbara abandoned at a train station when she was two years old,” Aunt Helen said. “She took her in, raised her as her own, and legally adopted her.”
“But… why didn’t she tell Barbara?”
“She loved Barbara just as much as she loved you. To her, you were both her daughters. Blood never mattered to her.”
But it had mattered to Barbara.
When I told Barbara the truth, she laughed bitterly. “You’re lying. You just want to take everything from me.”
I placed the DNA results in front of her. “Mom loved you, Barbara. She chose you. But you tried to erase me from her life.”
For once, she had nothing to say.
At our next meeting with the lawyer, Barbara still tried to fight.
“I don’t want to share,” she snapped, gripping the chair so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Barbara,” Alistair said firmly, “your mother’s will is clear. Everything is to be split equally.”
“But that’s not fair!” she cried. “I deserve it all!”
“Actually,” the lawyer said, “if you want to argue blood ties, Charlotte is the biological daughter. She could take everything.”
Barbara turned to me, eyes wide with panic.
“So, let’s go to court,” she challenged. “Let’s see who wins.”
I sighed. I was tired of being the understanding one.
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s go to court.”
Months later, the judge ruled in my favor.
I inherited everything.
Barbara had tried to erase me, but in the end, she was the one who lost everything—
And, honestly?
She deserved it.
