When Mom got sick, something strange happened. My sister, Samira, suddenly became the perfect daughter. She moved in with Mom and started keeping me away, saying she was taking care of everything. At first, I didn’t argue, but deep down, I knew Samira’s motives were far from pure. I couldn’t stop her, but everything changed the day the doctor handed me Mom’s final note.
It was hard to believe how different Samira and I were, even though we grew up in the same house. Our mom raised us alone, and as I grew older, I began to understand how hard it must have been for her. I thought back to when we lived in that small apartment. It was so cold in the winter, the wind howled through the cracks in the windows, and the heat barely worked. Mom worked two jobs, but it was never enough to get by.
There were nights when we barely had enough food. I still remember Mrs. Jenkins, our neighbor, bringing us a hot meal. She always smiled kindly as she handed over a pot of soup or a plate of pasta. Back then, I didn’t realize what a big deal it was; all I knew was that I wasn’t hungry anymore.
But what struck me the most was how Mom never ate with us. She always pretended she wasn’t hungry, but I knew better. She was giving everything she had to take care of Samira and me. It wasn’t until later that I understood just how much she sacrificed for us.
Things did get better over time. Mom found a better job, and slowly, we moved out of poverty. She saved enough money for us to live in a nicer house, and Samira and I both went to college. But Samira didn’t remember those tough times the way I did. She was too young, too carefree. Maybe that’s why she turned out the way she did — selfish and distant.
Even after graduating from college, Samira didn’t want to work. She kept asking Mom for money and spent it like it was never going to run out.
Then everything changed. One day, I got a call from Mom.
“Nicole, can you come over?” she asked. Her voice sounded strange, like something was wrong.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, worry creeping into my voice.
“Yes, yes, just come over,” she said quickly.
Her words echoed in my mind as I drove to her house after work. Something about the call didn’t feel right. When I arrived, the door was open, so I stepped inside.
“Mom?” I called, my voice trembling.
“I’m in the kitchen, honey,” she replied.
I walked into the kitchen and found her sitting at the table, holding a cup of tea. Her hands rested on the table, but they looked tired. Her eyes, usually so bright, seemed dull, like the life had drained out of her.
“What’s going on? What did you want to talk about?” I asked, my heart starting to pound.
Mom took a deep breath and looked up at me. “I went to the doctor today. I have bad news,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
My heart skipped a beat. “What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“It’s my heart,” she said, her voice soft and filled with sorrow. “The doctor says I have maybe a year, at best.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the stomach. I couldn’t breathe. “Isn’t there anything we can do? I’ll pay for anything, I’ll do whatever it takes,” I said, feeling panic rise in my chest.
“A year,” Mom repeated. “With treatment. Without it, I might not even last two months.”
“No… no, that can’t be true,” I whispered, tears already filling my eyes.
“I know, sweetie. I thought the stress and overwork would kill me someday, but I didn’t know it would be this soon,” she said softly.
I rushed to her, hugging her tightly, unable to stop the tears. “We’ll get through this, Mom. I’ll be here with you, I promise.”
“I know, Nicole,” she said softly, her hand stroking my hair the way she used to when I was little. “But don’t tell Samira yet. Not until we have to.”
“Why not?” I asked, confused. “She’ll want to help you. She’ll take care of you.”
“Right now, she’s living off her new boyfriend. We can rest easy for a while. But when the time comes, I’ll tell her,” Mom said.
I shook my head, still upset. “That’s wrong.”
Mom smiled faintly and patted my hand. “I’ll tell her when the time is right.”
About a month later, Mom finally told Samira everything. Samira had come over, asking for money again after breaking up with her boyfriend. After their conversation, she came straight to me. She didn’t knock or even wait for me to open the door; she just walked in and sat down on the couch.
“I don’t want you visiting Mom anymore,” Samira said coldly.
I stared at her, shocked. “Are you out of your mind? Mom is sick! She needs someone to be there for her.”
Samira rolled her eyes. “I know why you’re so concerned — you want all Mom’s inheritance for yourself. But that won’t happen.”
I stood up, furious. “I don’t care about the money, Samira! I just want to help Mom. Why do you think everyone is like you?”
She smirked. “You don’t have to pretend. Mom always loved me more. She gave me more money, and now, you’re trying to get something after she’s gone.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “That’s insane. I’m going to keep visiting Mom, and I won’t let you stop me.”
Samira stood up quickly. “I’m moving in with her and taking care of her. So don’t even try to come over.”
“You? Since when are you so selfless?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself.”
“I care about Mom,” Samira said with a smirk. “So don’t even think about visiting her. I won’t let you.”
Without another word, she grabbed her bag and left. I stood there, shaking my head, unable to believe how selfish she had become.
But Samira wasn’t joking. She didn’t let me see Mom. She came up with excuses like, “Mom is sleeping,” or “Mom isn’t feeling well.” It became clear that Samira was keeping me away on purpose.
So I texted Mom, asking her when Samira would be out of the house so I could visit. One afternoon, Mom texted me that Samira had gone to the mall, and I could come over. I rushed to the store to buy some groceries and headed straight to Mom’s.
When I got there, Mom was resting on the couch. She looked exhausted, but her eyes lit up when she saw me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, stepping closer.
“Not too bad,” she said, offering a weak smile. “I’m managing.”
“I brought you some groceries,” I said, setting the bag on the floor. “I got your favorite tea and some fresh fruit.”
“Thank you, Nicole,” Mom said, but there was a sadness in her voice. “Why haven’t you been coming around? Samira said you didn’t want to visit because you think I’m a burden.”
I froze. “She said what?!”
“She said you didn’t want to come because I was too much trouble,” Mom repeated, her voice filled with concern.
I couldn’t hold back the anger. “That’s a lie! She wouldn’t let me visit. She always had an excuse. As soon as I could, I came.”
“I see,” Mom said quietly.
“Is Samira helping you?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“Yes, she’s helping,” Mom said. “She’s with me almost all the time, cooking, cleaning, bringing me medicine. It’s like she’s a different person now. I think my illness has changed her.”
I bit my lip, fighting back the anger. “Do you have enough money for everything?” I asked, desperate to change the topic again.
“For now,” Mom said, looking worried. “But Samira spends a lot. I’m afraid we won’t have enough for the medicine soon.”
“Don’t worry about that,” I said, my voice firm. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll make sure everything is covered.”
“Thank you, Nicole,” Mom said with a tired smile.
I stayed with her for a while longer, talking about little things, just enjoying the time with her. Eventually, Mom said she was tired and wanted to rest, so I helped her to her room.
“Nicole,” Mom said softly as she lay down, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve lived a long life, and I understand everything.”
I nodded, not fully understanding her words but thinking she was just exhausted.
I quietly left the house, not ready to go home. I drove straight to the hospital, my mind racing. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
At the hospital, I found Dr. Miller in his office. As soon as he saw me, his expression softened.
“Hello, Nicole. I’m so sorry for what you’re going through,” he said gently.
“I just need to talk about Mom’s treatment,” I said, taking a seat. “I’ll be taking care of all the bills from now on. Send them to me.”
“I thought Samira was handling everything,” Dr. Miller said, raising an eyebrow.
“She’s using Mom’s money, but I don’t want her to worry about the bills,” I said, trying to stay calm.
Dr. Miller nodded. “Alright, we’ll arrange that.”
It was a relief to finally have control over Mom’s treatment, but I knew this was just the beginning.
As the bills piled up, I realized something strange. The amounts were higher than expected, and I began to wonder where the money was coming from. Mom’s savings were running low, and Samira’s spending habits were draining the money fast.
Then, things took a turn. Mom’s condition worsened. She was hospitalized, and I spent every evening by her side, reading to her, holding her hand, and making sure she was comfortable. Samira, of course, was always there too, but her motives were clear — she wanted to win Mom’s favor.
One evening, Samira pulled me aside in the hallway. Her face was serious.
“Mom’s money is running out,” Samira said, looking away. “I don’t know how much longer it’ll last.”
“I’m paying all the medical bills,” I said, confused. “How could it be running out?”
“There are other expenses too,” Samira said softly. “I need money for groceries, utilities… I have my own needs.”
I crossed my arms, unimpressed. “You spend it all on yourself. I’m not supporting you.”
A few days later, I got a call from the hospital. I rushed there, my heart in my throat. When I arrived, Samira and her lawyer were already there.
“Since I took care of Mom, all the inheritance goes to me,” Samira said without even greeting me. Then, the lawyer handed me a will.
I shoved it back into his hands. “Mom just passed away, and you’re thinking about money already?!” I yelled.
Samira just shrugged. “I don’t want any conflicts later.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I said, storming out of the room.
I went straight to Dr. Miller. When he saw me, his face softened.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Nicole,” he said gently. “Your mom loved you more than anyone.”
“Thank you,” I replied, barely holding back tears.
Dr. Miller handed me an envelope. “Before she passed, your mom left this for you.”
I stared at the envelope in disbelief. The handwriting on it said, “For My True Daughter.”
I stepped outside the office to read it. My hands shook as I opened it. Inside, there was a new will — one that was more recent than the one Samira had. It was valid, and it left everything to me.
There was also an account I had no idea about. The balance was more than I could have ever imagined. Mom had planned everything.
At the end, a small note was attached:
“I told you I understand everything. I can see real care and distinguish it from selfish motives. That’s why I’m leaving everything to you, Nicole. I hope you keep that kindness and humanity in your heart. I love you.”
Tears filled my eyes as I read her words. Even after death, Mom had protected me. I felt overwhelmed with gratitude. No matter what came next, I knew I would honor her memory — with love, kindness, and strength.
