When Mom fell ill, everything changed. Suddenly, my sister, Samira, became the perfect daughter. She moved in with Mom and kept me away, telling me she was taking care of everything. But I knew Samira too well. Her motives were never pure. I couldn’t stop her, but everything changed the day the doctor handed me Mom’s final note.
I could never understand how Samira and I could be so different, even though we grew up in the same family. It wasn’t until we were adults that I began to see the truth. Mom raised us on her own, and as I grew older, I realized how hard she had worked to make sure we had what we needed.
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 never seemed to be enough. Some nights, there wasn’t much food. I can still remember the evenings when our neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, would bring us dinner. She’d smile as she handed over a steaming pot of soup or a plate of pasta.
Back then, I didn’t understand how much it meant. I only knew that I wasn’t hungry anymore. But I noticed how Mom never ate with us. She would sit quietly, pretending she wasn’t hungry, but I knew the truth. She was giving everything she had to us.
As time went on, things slowly started to get better. Mom found a better job, and little by little, we climbed out of poverty. She saved enough money to move us into a nicer house. Eventually, Samira and I went to college.
But Samira didn’t remember those tough times the way I did. She was too young to understand how hard Mom had fought for us. Maybe that’s why she was different—selfish and carefree. Even after she graduated from college, she didn’t want to work. She kept asking Mom for money and spent it like it would never run out.
But then, one day, Mom called me. Her voice was quiet, almost as if she was afraid to speak.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, I just need to talk to you,” Mom replied.
Her words echoed in my head as I drove to her house after work. I felt uneasy. Mom never called me like that. When I arrived, the front door was open, and I stepped inside.
“Mom?” I called out.
“I’m in the kitchen, honey,” she called back.
I walked in and found her sitting at the table with a cup of tea. Her hands rested on the table, but they looked tired. Her eyes, usually so 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 bad news,” she said softly.
My heart dropped. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“My heart,” Mom said quietly. “They gave me a year, at best.”
The words hit me like a slap in the face. “Isn’t there anything that can be done? I’ll pay whatever it takes, just tell me,” I said, my voice shaking.
“A year is the most I’ll get with treatment. Without it, I might not even make it two months,” she said.
“No, no, this can’t be true,” I whispered. Tears welled up in my eyes.
“But it is,” Mom said. “The stress and overwork over the years… it’s taken its toll.”
I couldn’t hold back anymore. I moved closer and hugged her. “We’ll get through this, Mom. I’ll be here with you.”
“I know,” she whispered, stroking my hair like she used to when I was little. “But don’t tell Samira anything for now.”
“Why not? She’ll just keep asking for money when we need it for treatment,” I said.
“She’s living off her new boyfriend right now, so we can be calm for a while,” Mom replied.
I shook my head. “This is wrong.”
“I’ll tell her when the time is right,” Mom said.
A month later, Mom told Samira about her illness. Samira had just broken up with her boyfriend and had come to ask Mom for money again. After their conversation, Samira came straight to me. She didn’t even knock—just walked in like she owned the place and plopped down on my couch.
“I don’t want you visiting Mom,” Samira said.
“Are you out of your mind? Mom is sick. I’m going to visit her. Someone needs to help her,” I said, shocked by what she was saying.
“I know why you’re so concerned about her,” Samira sneered. “You just want to get all her inheritance for yourself. But that’s not going to happen.”
“Are you serious? I don’t care about the money. I just want to help Mom,” I said. “Or are you judging everyone by yourself?”
Samira rolled her eyes. “I know what you’re really after. Mom always loved me more because she gave me more money. So now, you want to get something after she’s gone.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m going to keep visiting Mom. Someone needs to be there for her,” I said firmly.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve already planned everything. I’m moving in with Mom to take care of her,” Samira said.
“You? Since when are you so caring? You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself,” I said, shocked.
“That’s not true. I’ve always cared about Mom, and now she needs me. So don’t even think about visiting. I won’t let you in,” Samira said.
She grabbed her bag and walked out without saying another word. I stood there, stunned. I couldn’t believe how selfish Samira was. I knew she was doing it all for herself.
But Samira wasn’t joking. She didn’t let me see Mom, always coming up with excuses like, “Mom is sleeping,” “Mom doesn’t feel well,” or “Mom went to the doctor.”
So, I texted Mom, asking her to let me know when Samira would be out so I could visit. One afternoon, Mom texted me that Samira had gone to the mall and that I could come over. I stopped by the store to pick up some groceries and headed straight to Mom’s.
When I walked in, 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, walking over to her.
“Not too bad. I’m managing,” Mom said with a weak smile.
“I brought you some groceries,” I said, placing the bag on the floor. “Your favorite tea and some fresh fruit.”
“Thank you, honey,” Mom said, but her face grew serious. “Why haven’t you been visiting me? Samira told me you didn’t want to because I’ve become a burden.”
My heart stopped. “She said what?!” I was shocked. “I didn’t come because Samira wouldn’t let me. She always had an excuse. As soon as I could, I came,” I said.
“I see,” Mom replied softly.
“How’s it been with Samira? Has she been helping?” I asked.
“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.”
I almost laughed out loud. “Yeah, right,” I muttered. “But do you have enough money?”
“For now, yes, but Samira spends a lot. I’m worried we won’t have enough for the medicine soon,” Mom said, her voice laced with concern.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to the doctor and take care of everything,” I said, reassuring her.
“Thank you,” Mom said with a tired smile.
I stayed with her for a little while longer. We talked about small things, trying to keep the mood light. I didn’t want to leave, but eventually, Mom said she was tired and wanted to go to bed. I helped her to her room gently.
“Nicole,” Mom said softly as she lay down. “I’ve lived a long life, and I understand everything.”
I just nodded. Her words didn’t make sense to me at the time. I thought she was just tired.
I quietly left after putting away the groceries. But I didn’t go home. I couldn’t. I drove straight to the hospital.
I knocked on Dr. Miller’s office door and entered when I heard, “Come in!”
“Hello, I’m the daughter of one of your patients, Martha…”
“Oh, you must be Nicole,” Dr. Miller interrupted. “Have a seat. Martha talked a lot about you.”
I sat down across from him. “I want to take care of all Mom’s treatment bills from now on,” I said.
“I thought Samira was handling everything,” Dr. Miller said, raising an eyebrow.
“She’s using Mom’s money, but she spends too much. I don’t want Mom worrying about finances,” I explained.
“Alright, we can arrange that,” Dr. Miller said, nodding.
I felt some relief knowing I could help Mom without interference. But it was only the beginning.
When the hospital bills started arriving, I was shocked. Each one was higher than I expected. I couldn’t understand where the money was coming from. Mom’s savings were running out, but the bills kept coming. Samira’s spending was taking its toll.
As Mom’s health continued to decline, she had to be hospitalized. I was finally able to visit whenever I wanted. Samira couldn’t stop me anymore.
I spent every evening at the hospital, reading to Mom, holding her hand, and making sure she was comfortable. Samira, still trying to win Mom’s attention, practically lived at the hospital. But I knew her motives weren’t pure.
One evening, Samira came up to me as I sat with Mom. Her face was serious.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
I followed her into the hallway, crossing my arms.
“Mom’s money is running out. I don’t know how much longer it’ll last,” Samira said, avoiding my gaze.
“I’m paying the medical bills. How can the money be gone?” I asked.
“Well, there are other expenses too—groceries, utilities. I need money to live,” Samira said softly, almost as if she was trying to guilt me.
“That’s the problem,” I said firmly. “You spend it all on yourself. I’m not going to support you.”
I turned and walked back into Mom’s room, determined to be there for her.
A few days later, I received a call from the hospital. My heart sank as I answered. Mom was gone.
I rushed to the hospital, my hands trembling. When I arrived, Samira and her lawyer were already there.
“Since I took care of Mom, all the inheritance goes to me,” Samira said without even greeting me. She handed me a will.
I shoved the will back into the lawyer’s hands. “Mom just passed away, and you’re already thinking about money?!” I yelled at Samira.
“I don’t want any problems later,” she said flatly.
“You’re unbelievable,” I said, shaking my head, and walked out.
I went straight to Dr. Miller’s office. When he saw me, his expression softened with sympathy.
“I’m so sorry. Your mom loved you more than anyone,” he said gently.
“Thank you,” I whispered, holding back tears.
“Before she passed, your mom gave me something for you,” Dr. Miller said. He reached into his drawer and handed me an envelope. The handwriting on the front read, “For My True Daughter.”
“Do you mind if I step outside to read this?” I asked.
I stepped out into the hallway, my hands shaking as I opened the envelope. Inside, there was a will—more recent than the one Samira had, and it was valid. Mom had left everything to me.
Attached was a small note in her handwriting.
“I told you I understand everything. I can see real care and distinguish it from selfish motives. That’s why I’m leaving everything to you, Nicole. I hope you keep that kindness and humanity in your heart. I love you, Mom.”
Tears filled my eyes as I read her words. Even after her death, Mom had protected me. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I didn’t know what the future would hold, but I knew one thing for sure: I would honor Mom’s memory. I would live with love, kindness, and strength, just like she had.
