Grandma’s House Had a Secret – and It Wasn’t the Pool
Inheriting Grandma’s duplex should’ve been simple. Amanda got the upstairs, and I got the downstairs, with the garden and the pool. Clean split, right? Nope. That house was hiding a secret we never saw coming.
After Grandma passed away, my sister Amanda and I sat in the notary’s stiff, quiet office. We were both a mix of sad and nervous, waiting to hear what she’d left us. Some people would call it an “inheritance.” Others might call it a ticking time bomb wrapped in ribbon. Either way, we were getting Grandma’s house.
The notary cleared his throat and read the will. I got the first floor—with the peaceful garden and sparkling pool. Amanda got the second floor.
At first, it seemed fair. Until Amanda’s face twisted up like a pretzel and she blurted out, loud enough to shake the blinds:
“Why do YOU get the garden and the pool? I’ve always wanted those!”
The poor notary looked like he wanted to vanish into his pile of paperwork.
I tried to stay calm. “You know I grew up here,” I reminded her. “Grandma and I spent every season in that garden. It’s… sentimental.”
Amanda rolled her eyes like I’d said something ridiculous.
“Sentiment doesn’t pay the bills. Do you even know how much it costs to maintain a pool? You’ll be broke by June.”
Then she tilted her head, and I could practically see the gears turning.
“Let’s combine the house. Share the pool. Think of the savings! I have money for that. But you… don’t be silly!”
She said it like I was a confused child, not a grown adult with a plan.
I crossed my arms. “Your family can come use the pool if you care so much. As for the bills… I’ll manage.”
Amanda gave me one of her sugary-sweet fake smiles. The kind that usually means she’s got something sneaky planned.
“Suit yourself,” she said, smirking. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Welcome to War
One week later, I moved in. If you’re imagining a lovely family moment, sisters bonding over coffee and wallpaper samples—stop. That is not what happened.
The first few days were weirdly quiet. Then… came the siege.
Amanda’s kids discovered my balcony. And by “discovered,” I mean they invaded it. Juice boxes, candy wrappers, LEGOs… my peaceful retreat turned into a trashy battlefield.
I marched upstairs to talk to Amanda. She leaned over the railing with a shrug.
“Oops,” she said. “Kids will be kids.”
I clenched my jaw. “They’re not my kids.”
Then came the noise. Morning? It sounded like a stampede. Noon? Boom-boom-boom! Basketball. Indoors. Evening? Bowling. Upstairs. I’m not joking—bowling.
I thought I could handle it… until The Shoe.
It was one of those rare snowy evenings. I had my warm robe on, a fuzzy blanket around me, and a glass of mulled wine in hand. I was finally, finally relaxing—when something squelched into my wine pitcher.
A muddy sneaker. From Amanda’s balcony.
Her laughter floated down like an evil fairy’s curse.
“Really, Amanda?” I stomped upstairs with the soggy shoe in hand like it was Exhibit A in a trial. “This. Landed. In. My. Wine.”
She opened the door, all smiles.
“Oh relax, Ems. It’s just a shoe.”
“It’s your kid’s shoe. In my wine.”
She winked.
“Maybe it’s a sign. Sell me your share and go live somewhere quiet. Win-win!”
I stormed back downstairs, her giggles trailing after me like ghosts. But I didn’t have time to cry about it. I had paintings to finish for a gallery show. The advance was already spent. Bills were due. And thanks to Amanda, I had the artistic inspiration of a dried sponge.
Then things got worse.
The Great Leak of Doom
At 2 a.m., I woke up to the sound of dripping. Rain? I hoped. Nope.
My ceiling was crying. Water trickled down, spreading a dark stain like a horror movie.
“No, no, no…” I whispered, racing for a bucket.
But the leak laughed at my effort. It spread like wildfire.
Soaking wet and furious, I stomped upstairs and banged on Amanda’s door. She opened it, annoyingly cheerful.
“Ems! What brings you here at this hour?”
I pointed up. “You’re flooding me. What’s happening?”
Amanda blinked like she’d just been told aliens landed on the roof.
“Flooding? Really? Must be the pipes. This house is ancient, you know.”
Her husband Jack appeared behind her with a flashlight, looking like he barely knew how to hold it.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We called Ryan, the plumber. He’ll be here any minute.”
“Define any minute, because my ceiling looks like an abstract painting made of mold!”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Enter Ryan. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and walked in with a wrench over his shoulder like he was posing for a calendar. He looked around like he already knew this would be a mess.
“Where’s the damage?”
“Everywhere,” I muttered.
He crouched down, fiddled with pipes, and finally stood up with a sigh.
“The pipes are ancient. The burst upstairs? Just the beginning. The pool’s partly to blame.”
“The pool?” I blinked. “What does the pool have to do with my ceiling leaking?”
“The plumbing for the pool’s connected to the house’s main line. It’s putting stress on the pipes. They’re cracking under pressure.”
Amanda looked smug.
“See, Ems? You don’t want Grandma’s duplex to crumble, do you?”
I braced myself. “How much to fix it?”
Ryan gave me a number so high I actually laughed. Then nearly cried.
Amanda leaned in with her sweet voice.
“You know, this wouldn’t be such a problem if you’d just sell me your share.”
“Like starring in your own soap opera? No thanks.”
I dragged myself back downstairs. My paintings were soaked, colors bleeding like my soul. I was about to cry when I saw an envelope on the table.
Dad’s handwriting.
“Emily, please come to Christmas dinner. Let’s leave the past behind us. Love, Dad.”
I hadn’t seen him much since Mom died. His new marriage didn’t make things easier. But right then? I needed something. Anything.
A Very Unexpected Christmas
Dad’s house was glowing with twinkling lights. Snow lined the path like frosting on a cake. It smelled like gingerbread and warmth.
He opened the door with a big grin.
“Emily! You made it!”
“Merry Christmas, Dad.”
He pulled me into a hug, and for a second, I felt safe again.
Inside, things got weird fast.
Amanda and her whole crew were already there. Jack was laughing with Dad’s new wife, Vivian. And standing by the fireplace was… Ryan. The plumber. Holding a glass of eggnog like he lived there.
I froze. “Why is the plumber at Christmas dinner?!”
Ryan smirked.
“Funny question—considering I’m your new stepbrother.”
My jaw dropped. “WHAT?!”
Vivian stepped in, smiling.
“Ryan’s my son. He’s staying with us. I had no idea you’d already met.”
“Met? He gave me a quote that could fund a small nation!”
Ryan shrugged.
“Jack needed help. I needed cash. Win-win.”
“You almost bankrupted me!”
He held up his hands.
“Hey, I fixed the pipes.”
Amanda rolled her eyes.
“Honestly, Ems, what’s the point? That house is a dump. Just admit it. Let it go.”
“You don’t care about the house,” I snapped. “You just want to win.”
Jack tried to interrupt.
“Maybe we should—”
“No, Jack!” Amanda snapped. “She needs to hear this. Emily’s too stubborn!”
Then Dad boomed.
“Enough! Sit down. All of you.”
He held up a paper.
“This is the real will. Grandma left the house to me. Not you two.”
Silence.
“I created the fake split hoping you two would learn to get along. Clearly, that didn’t work. If you can’t make peace, I’ll sell the house and keep the money. No one gets anything.”
The room froze. Amanda had no comeback. I sat down slowly, shocked.
Peace Talks and Paintbrushes
Somehow, over the next few months, we stopped fighting.
One afternoon Amanda stood beside me, eyeing the ugly wallpaper in the dining room.
“You know, this wallpaper has to go.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You offering to help scrape it off?”
She snatched a scraper.
“Don’t get used to it. I have limits.”
She actually helped fix up the house. Complained the entire time, but she helped.
I agreed to let her kids play in the garden—but there were rules. No candy. No juice boxes. And definitely no shoes from balconies.
Ryan surprised me the most. He restored my paintings. They looked better than ever.
“Turns out I’m good with a brush,” he said, smirking. “Restoration’s a hobby.”
“These look amazing… thank you.”
“I also called the gallery. Told them the delay was my fault. They’re giving your work another shot.”
I couldn’t believe it.
A Real Ending
By summer, the house looked brand-new. We threw a family barbecue to celebrate.
Amanda flipped burgers like a pro. I set the table with mismatched dishes that somehow looked perfect together.
Dad sat on the patio, laughing with the grandkids. Jack and Ryan swapped dad jokes like they were old buddies.
Amanda nudged me.
“This isn’t so bad, is it?”
I smiled. “No. Not bad at all.”
And in that moment, I realized—Grandma’s real gift wasn’t the house. It was the chance to fix what was broken. And maybe, just maybe, we were finally starting to.
