Lily returned home to an empty house. Half the furniture was gone. My letter sat waiting on the kitchen table. She screamed, cried, tore through the rooms searching for answers. When she finally called my sister, the truth came out: I had been wealthy all along. Very wealthy.
When Lily realized she had lost nearly a million dollars, she collapsed.
In the months that followed, her life unraveled. Financial pressure mounted. She lost her rental. She worked multiple jobs just to survive. The children grew withdrawn and anxious. Her youngest, Ethan, asked constantly why his grandmother had disappeared.
Then came the phone call that shattered me.
My sister’s voice shook. “Margaret… Ethan tried to hurt himself. He left a note. He said he thought you left because he wasn’t good enough.”
My heart stopped.
The child I adored believed my disappearance was his fault.
I booked the first flight back.
When I walked into the hospital room, Ethan lay pale and fragile in the bed. The moment he saw me, he burst into tears and clung to me with a desperation that broke something inside my chest.
“Grandma,” he sobbed, “I thought you left because you didn’t love me.”
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