One morning, Margaret collapsed in the kitchen. Three days later, she was gone. At the funeral, her relatives looked at me with open disgust. They called me a gold digger and whispered that I had finally gotten what I wanted. Part of me believed they were right.
Then the lawyer read the will. The house went to Margaret’s niece. Most of her money went to charity. I received nothing. Before I could speak, the lawyer placed an old shoebox on the table. My name was written across the lid in Margaret’s careful handwriting.
“What is this?” I asked.
The lawyer looked at me calmly. “She said this is what you truly wanted.”
(by:https://best-food.ciifood.com)
