When Mom got sick, my sister suddenly became the perfect daughter. She moved in with her and kept me away, claiming she’d take care of everything. But I knew her too well. Her motives were never pure. I couldn’t stop her, but everything changed when the doctor gave me Mom’s final report.
I never understood how such different children could grow up in the same family. Not until my sister and I became adults. Our mother raised us alone, and the older I got, the more I realized how hard it was for her.
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I remember the tiny apartment we lived in when I was little. It was always cold in the winter, and I could hear the wind whistling through the cracks in the windows. Mom worked two jobs just to keep a roof over our heads, but it was never enough.
Sometimes there wasn’t much food in the house. I still remember the nights our neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, would bring us dinner.
He smiled kindly as he handed us a steaming pot of soup or a plate of pasta.
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I didn’t understand how much it meant then. I only knew that I wasn’t hungry anymore.
But I realized Mom never ate with us. She sat quietly, pretending she wasn’t hungry, but I knew the truth.
He gave us everything he had. Over time, things improved. Mom found a better job, and little by little, we escaped poverty.
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He saved enough for us to move to a better house, and eventually Samira and I went to college.
But Samira didn’t remember those difficult times the way I did. She was too young to understand the struggles Mom faced.
Maybe that’s why it turned out the way it did. How can I put it? A little selfish and careless.
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Even after graduating from college, he didn’t want to work. He kept asking Mom for money and spending it as if it would never run out.
But things got worse. One day, Mom called me and asked me to come over.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, I just need to talk to you,” Mom replied.
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Her words echoed in my head as I drove to her house after work. I felt awkward. Mom never called me that. When I arrived, the front door was open, so I let myself in.
“Mom?” I yelled.
“I’m in the kitchen, honey,” he replied.
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I walked in and saw her sitting at the table with a cup of tea. Her hands were resting on the table, but they looked tired. Her eyes, normally bright, seemed dull.
“What happened? What did you want to talk about?” I asked as I sat down.
Mom took a deep breath. “I went to the doctor today. Unfortunately, I have some bad news,” she said quietly.
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My heart leaped. “Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“My heart,” Mom said softly. “They’ve given me a year, at most.”
The words hit me like a brick. “Can’t anything be done? I’ll pay whatever it takes, just tell me,” I said, my voice shaking.
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“A year is the longest I’ll get with treatment. Without it, I might not even make it to two months,” Mom said.
“No, no, it can’t be true,” I whispered. Tears filled my eyes.
“But it’s true,” Mom said. “It seems all the stress and overwork haven’t done me any good.”
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I couldn’t help myself, so I leaned closer and hugged her. “We’ll get through this, Mom. I’ll be here with you.”
“I know,” Mom said gently, stroking my hair like she used to when I was little. “But don’t tell Samira anything for now.”
“Why not? He’ll keep asking you for money when you need it for treatment,” I said.
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“She’s living off her new boyfriend now, so we can rest easy for a while,” Mom replied.
I shook my head. “This is wrong.”
“I’ll tell him myself when the time comes,” Mom said.
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Mom told Samira everything a month after our conversation. Samira had started asking for money again after breaking up with her boyfriend.
After talking to Mom, Samira came straight to see me. She didn’t even knock. She walked in like she owned the place and sat on my couch.
“I don’t want you to visit Mom,” Samira said.
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“Are you crazy? Mom’s sick. Of course I’ll visit her. Someone has to help her,” I said. I couldn’t believe I’d said that.
“I know why you care so much about her: to keep her entire inheritance. But that won’t happen,” Samira said.
“Are you serious? I don’t care about money. I want to help Mom,” I said. “Or do you judge everyone by yourself?”
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Samira rolled her eyes. “I know that’s not true. Mom always loved me more because she gave me more money. So now you want to get something when she’s gone,” she said.
“That’s stupid, if that’s what you really think. I’ll keep visiting Mom. Someone has to help her,” I said firmly.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve already planned everything. I’ll move in with Mom and take care of her,” Samira said.
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“You? Since when do you care so much? You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself,” I said.
“That’s not true. I’ve always cared for Mom, and now she needs me. So don’t even try to come. I won’t let you in,” Samira said.
She stood up, picked up her bag, and left without another word. I stared at the door as she left.
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I couldn’t believe how selfish Samira was. I knew she was doing it for herself. Just for her.
But it turned out she wasn’t joking. Samira wouldn’t let me see Mom, always with excuses like, “Mom’s sleeping,” “Mom isn’t feeling well,” or “Mom went to the doctor.”
So I texted Mom and asked her to let me know when Samira wasn’t home so I could visit her.
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One afternoon, Mom texted me saying Samira had gone to the mall and could I come over. I stopped by the grocery store to pick up some supplies and headed straight to Mom’s house.
When I arrived, Mom was lying on the couch, watching TV. She looked tired, but her eyes lit up when she saw me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, approaching him.
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“Not too bad. I’m managing,” Mom said with a weak smile.
“I brought you some food,” I said, placing the bag on the floor. “I have your favorite tea and fresh fruit.”
“Thank you, honey,” Mom said, but her face turned serious. “Why haven’t you come to visit me? Samira said you didn’t want to because I’d become a burden.”
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My heart stopped. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Is that what she told you?” I was outraged. “I didn’t come because Samira wouldn’t let me. She always had an excuse. As soon as I had the chance, I came,” I said.
“I see,” Mom replied.
“How’s it going with Samira? Is she helping you?” I asked.
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“Yes, yes. She’s by my side almost all the time. She cooks, cleans, and brings me medicine,” Mom said. “I think my illness has changed her for the better,” she added.
“Yeah, sure,” I murmured softly. “And do you have enough money?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“For now, yes, although Samira spends a lot. I’m afraid we won’t have enough for the medicines soon,” Mom said, her voice full of concern.
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“Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to the doctor and take care of everything,” I said firmly.
“Okay, thanks,” Mom said with a tired smile.
I stayed with her for a while longer. We talked about unimportant things. I didn’t want to leave, but Mom said she was tired and wanted to go to bed. I helped her go to her room, guiding her gently.
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“Nicole,” Mom said softly as she lay down. “I’ve lived a lot, and I understand everything.”
I just nodded. Her words didn’t make any sense to me, but I thought she was just tired.
I packed up my groceries and left in silence. But I didn’t go home. I couldn’t. I drove straight to the hospital.
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I knocked on Dr. Miller’s office door and, after hearing “Come in!”, I entered.
“Hi, I’m the daughter of one of your patients, Martha…”
“Oh, you must be Nicole,” Dr. Miller said, not even letting me finish Mom’s full name. “Have a seat. Martha’s told me a lot about you.”
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I sat down across from Dr. Miller. “I want to talk about Mom’s treatment. From now on, send me all the bills, for whatever reason,” I told him.
“I thought Samira paid for everything,” Dr. Miller said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes, with Mom’s money, but she spends a lot too. I don’t want Mom to worry about finances,” I said.
“Okay, we can fix it,” Dr. Miller said, nodding.
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I felt a certain relief knowing I could finally help Mom without interference. But I also understood that this was just the beginning.
When I started receiving hospital bills, I was shocked by the amounts. Each bill was higher than I expected.
I couldn’t believe Mom had enough money for everything, considering how much Samira spent.
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I wondered where the money would come from. I knew Mom’s savings were running out.
Every month that passed, Mom’s condition worsened. Her strength declined, and she spent more time in bed.
They had to hospitalize her, and I was finally able to visit her whenever I wanted. Samira couldn’t stop me from going to the hospital.
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I spent every afternoon by Mom’s side. I read to her, held her hand, and made sure she was comfortable.
Samira watched me resentfully. Trying to gain Mom’s attention, she practically moved into the hospital and never left her side. But I knew her motives weren’t pure.
One afternoon, Samira approached me as I sat with Mom. Her expression was serious.
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“Can we talk?”
I followed her into the hallway. I crossed my arms and waited.
“Look, Mom’s running out of money. I don’t know how long that’ll last,” Samira said. She avoided my eyes.
“I’m paying all the medical bills. How come the money has run out?” I asked.
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“Well, there are other expenses too. Groceries, utilities… I need money to live, too,” Samira said. Her voice was softer now, almost as if she were trying to make me feel guilty.
“That’s the problem,” I said firmly. “You spend everything on yourself. I’m not going to support you.” I turned and went back to Mom’s room.
A few days after that conversation, I received a call from the hospital. My heart sank when I answered. Mom was gone.
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I was devastated. I ran to the hospital, my hands shaking. When I arrived, Samira and her lawyer were already there.
“Since I’ve taken care of Mom, the entire inheritance is mine,” Samira said instead of greeting me. Then her lawyer handed me a will.
I thrust the will back into her hands. “Mom just died, and you’re already thinking about money?” I yelled at Samira.
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“I don’t want any conflicts later,” she said, her tone flat.
“You’re amazing,” I said and walked away.
I went straight to Dr. Miller’s office. As soon as he saw me, his serious expression softened.
“I’m so sorry. Your mother loved you more than anyone,” he said sweetly.
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“Thank you,” I replied, barely holding back tears.
“Before she died, your mother gave me something to give you,” Dr. Miller said. He took an envelope out of his drawer and handed it to me. Mom’s handwriting on the envelope read: “To my true daughter.”
“Do you mind if I step outside to read this?” I asked.
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I left his office and sat down in one of the chairs in the hallway. My hands were shaking as I held the envelope.
I took a deep breath and opened it. Inside was a will. I read it carefully, and my heart pounded.
It was newer than the one Samira had, and it was valid. Mom had left everything to me.
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There was also an account I didn’t know about. The balance was larger than I’d ever imagined. I’d thought of everything.
There was a small note attached to the will. I instantly recognized Mom’s handwriting.
I’ve already told you I understand everything. I can see true love and distinguish it from selfish motives. That’s why I’m leaving everything to you, Nicole.
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I hope you keep that kindness and humanity in your heart. I love you, Mom.
My eyes filled with tears as I read his words. I covered my face and cried. Even after his death, Mom had protected me.
I felt a surge of gratitude. I didn’t know what lay ahead, but I was certain I would honor Mom’s memory. I would live as she had lived: with love, kindness, and strength.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: When my perfect sister stole my husband while I was pregnant, I was completely devastated. She always believed she was better than me, and she finally got what she wanted. But life has a way of turning things around. When everything fell apart for her, she showed up at my door, begging for help. Read the full story here .
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