I asked her to divide it with me, since we were both his grandchildren and I believed there had to be some kind of mistake. But she only shook her head and said, “I can’t go against Grandpa’s wishes.”
A few months later, I slipped on my old coat and felt something in the pocket. It was a folded piece of paper. My heart froze when I recognized Grandpa’s handwriting. He must have tucked it there during his final days, when I was visiting him every single day.
With trembling hands, I opened it and read: “If you’re reading this, it means the lawyer followed my instructions. The will they read was only a placeholder. The official one, signed and notarized, leaves everything to you. I trust you to do what’s right with it, even if that means sharing. You were the one who never left my side.”
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