“Dad?” My voice cracked.
He rubbed his neck. “Maybe it’s for the best, kid.”
It felt like the ground gave way beneath me. I didn’t shout. I didn’t cry. I just nodded and started gathering the boxes.
Carol didn’t even move to help. Dad just stood there, watching. I loaded my life into the car, piece by piece, with an empty chest.
As I drove away, I looked in the rearview mirror. They were still there, side by side. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I wouldn’t be coming back.
I parked in front of my best friend’s house. She opened the door, saw my face, and hugged me without saying a word. That night, lying on her couch, staring at the dark ceiling, I thought it was the end of everything.
But then, I didn’t know everything was about to change.
Three days after I left, still living out of boxes and spare clothes, something unexpected happened.
I was sitting on my friend’s couch, half-watching TV, half-flipping through job ads, when the doorbell rang. It wasn’t Carol. It wasn’t dad. It was a delivery guy.
“Elena?” he asked, handing me an envelope.
A delivery driver | Source: Pexels
“Yes, that’s me,” I said, signing for it.
Inside was a letter from a law firm. I opened it with trembling hands.
“We regret to inform you of the passing of Mrs. Helen, your godmother…”
I blinked. My godmother? I hadn’t seen her since I was a child. I kept reading.
A woman reading a letter | Source: Pexels
“…In her last will and testament, Mrs. Carter named you as her sole beneficiary. You are entitled to her residence, her savings account, which amounts to about $230,000, and her fifty percent share of Carter’s Floral Boutique, valued at about $180,000…”
I dropped the letter. My mouth hung open.
“Are you okay?” my friend asked.
“I…” I laughed and cried at the same time. “I think I just inherited a fortune.”
A woman laughing | Source: Pexels
The room spun a bit. My hands were shaking. I didn’t even know she was still thinking of me. And now, somehow, she had left me a house, a business, a life.
Someone had cared about me. Someone had seen me from the start. It wasn’t just money. It was a second chance.
That weekend, I was still mulling it over when they knocked on the door again.
“Dad?” My voice cracked.
He rubbed his neck. “Maybe it’s for the best, kid.”
It felt like the ground gave way beneath me. I didn’t shout. I didn’t cry. I just nodded and started gathering the boxes.
Carol didn’t even move to help. Dad just stood there, watching. I loaded my life into the car, piece by piece, with an empty chest.
As I drove away, I looked in the rearview mirror. They were still there, side by side. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I wouldn’t be coming back.
I parked in front of my best friend’s house. She opened the door, saw my face, and hugged me without saying a word. That night, lying on her couch, staring at the dark ceiling, I thought it was the end of everything.
But then, I didn’t know everything was about to change.
Three days after I left, still living out of boxes and spare clothes, something unexpected happened.
I was sitting on my friend’s couch, half-watching TV, half-flipping through job ads, when the doorbell rang. It wasn’t Carol. It wasn’t dad. It was a delivery guy.
“Elena?” he asked, handing me an envelope.
A delivery driver | Source: Pexels
“Yes, that’s me,” I said, signing for it.
Inside was a letter from a law firm. I opened it with trembling hands.
“We regret to inform you of the passing of Mrs. Helen, your godmother…”
I blinked. My godmother? I hadn’t seen her since I was a child. I kept reading.
A woman reading a letter | Source: Pexels
“…In her last will and testament, Mrs. Carter named you as her sole beneficiary. You are entitled to her residence, her savings account, which amounts to about $230,000, and her fifty percent share of Carter’s Floral Boutique, valued at about $180,000…”
I dropped the letter. My mouth hung open.
“Are you okay?” my friend asked.
“I…” I laughed and cried at the same time. “I think I just inherited a fortune.”
A woman laughing | Source: Pexels
The room spun a bit. My hands were shaking. I didn’t even know she was still thinking of me. And now, somehow, she had left me a house, a business, a life.
Someone had cared about me. Someone had seen me from the start. It wasn’t just money. It was a second chance.
That weekend, I was still mulling it over when they knocked on the door again.
