It had always been just me, my dad, and my older sister (35) living in the house after mom left. But my sister wasn’t really around much. She didn’t seem to consider the house a home, more like a place to crash.
Two weeks ago, my dad passed away. We were incredibly close, unlike my sister, who kept her distance.
Then came the reading of the will.
At the lawyer’s office, we learned that my dad left the entire house to my sister, and I was left with his old watch.
I was crushed, holding the watch—it felt like holding a part of him. For a few days, we still lived under the same roof until my sister suddenly said, “It’s time for you to leave.” I had just gotten home from work and found my belongings packed up and waiting by the door.
I called our lawyer, explaining what happened, and instead of sympathy, he laughed.
“Everything is going as your father predicted. Come to my office tomorrow, I have something for you,” he said, offering me a place to stay for the night in a bed and breakfast.
The next morning, I went to his office, and he handed me a folder. “Your father knew Charlotte would kick you out once she got the house,” he said. “That’s why he set this up.”
Seven years ago, my dad had inherited nearly two million dollars from a distant relative. It turns out, he split the money between me and Charlotte—with a condition: Charlotte had to share the house with me equally. If she didn’t, she would lose everything.
There was more: my dad had also left me a letter with the bank details to the safety deposit box containing the money. The catch? I had to find the code, which was hidden on his watch. The back had faint scratches, revealing a four-digit code.
I felt a surge of relief. Charlotte had the house, but she also had the debt. Now, she had just kicked out the one person who could save her.
A few days later, Charlotte called, sounding frantic. “You knew about the debt, didn’t you?” she asked.
I spun my dad’s watch on my wrist and said, “I might have the money, but you did kick me out.”
She begged for help, but I wasn’t inclined to offer any. “Maybe if you’d been nicer growing up, I’d feel differently.”
Not long after, I found a small studio apartment in a lively part of town, and I was starting to build my life again. As for Charlotte, the house was sold, and I didn’t feel guilty. It wasn’t home anymore without my dad.
He was still taking care of me, even if it was through Matthew, the lawyer.