I never expected to inherit anything from my birth mother. I’d never even met her.
But at 25, I learned Alina had left me $187,000 and a house. The lawyer said she’d followed my life from a distance, though she never had the courage to reach out.
I didn’t know how to feel. But I definitely didn’t expect what happened next.
When I got home after the funeral, my belongings were packed in boxes on the porch.
“You’re really going to keep all that money for yourself?” my brother demanded. My parents just sighed and said, “Can’t you all work this out?”
Work what out? I hadn’t asked for this. I hadn’t even known Alina existed. But suddenly, I was the villain for not sharing.
So I left.
I moved into Alina’s house, started my own business, and built a life where I didn’t have to beg for scraps of love.
Years later, when my adoptive father got sick, my siblings disappeared. So I did what they wouldn’t—I helped. Paid for his care. Made sure my mom was okay.
And when my siblings came back with their hands out? I smiled and closed the door.
Family isn’t just who raises you. It’s who stands by you. And sometimes, walking away is the only way to find peace.
