I took care of my 85-year-old neighbor’s inheritance, but she left me nothing; then, the next morning, her lawyer knocked on the door with a dented lunchbox and a key I wasn’t supposed to recognize.
Part 1
I sat in a lawyer’s office across from Mrs. Rhode’s niece, and every few seconds she looked at me like I was dirt stuck to the bottom of her shoe. The lawyer cleared his throat, opened a folder, and began reading in a dull, detached voice.
“The house on Willow Street shall be donated to Saint Matthew’s Outreach Charity.”
I blinked, confused.
“What?”
He continued reading without looking at me.
“Her personal savings will be divided between Saint Matthew’s Church and several charitable organizations. To her niece, she leaves her jewelry collection.”
I sat completely still, waiting for my name.
Mrs. Rhode had promised me everything. She had told me that if I took care of her during her final years, everything she owned would become mine after she passed away.
But the lawyer turned the last page, closed the folder, and looked up.
“That concludes the reading.”
I stared at him.
“That’s it? But she promised me…”
The words dried up in my throat as a terrible thought hit me.
Had Mrs. Rhode lied to me?
I stood up and walked out before they could see me cry.
When I returned to my tiny rented apartment, my chest ached. I went inside, shut the door, and collapsed onto the bed without even taking off my boots.
At first, I felt angry.
