Just Maria.
Not “daughter-in-law.”
Not “wife of my son.”
Just my name.
My chest tightened painfully.
Inside the envelope was a letter.
The paper trembled in my hands as I unfolded it.
“My daughter Maria,
If you are reading this, then I am already gone.
Forgive me for hiding this from everyone. I was afraid my own children would fight over it before my body even turned cold.
I know you never cared about money. That is exactly why I left it to you.”
Tears blurred the words instantly.
I wiped my face and kept reading.
“For twelve years, you fed me before feeding yourself. You washed my body when I could no longer stand. You treated me with dignity even when others treated me like a burden.
I watched everything.
I heard everything.
I heard my own children complain about the cost of my medicine while you quietly sold your jewelry to pay hospital bills.
I saw you stay awake beside me when my chest hurt at night.
I saw you cry when you thought nobody noticed.
You are the only child I have left with a clean heart.”
I broke down crying right there on the terrace.
Not because of the money.
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