When my father passed, my world crumbled. It had always been just the three of us—him, me (17), and my older sister Charlotte (35). But Charlotte was never really present. Two weeks ago, he was gone, and at the reading of his will, the truth hit hard: he left the house entirely to Charlotte.
To me? Just his old watch. For a few days, we coexisted. Then one evening, I came home to find my belongings packed by the door. “This is where we part ways,” Charlotte said coldly. Panicked, I called Matthew, our family lawyer. He chuckled. “Exactly as your father predicted. Come by my office tomorrow—I have something to show you.” The next morning, exhausted but determined, I met Matthew. He slid a folder toward me. “Your father received a two-million-dollar inheritance years ago and split it—on one condition. Charlotte had to share the house with you, or she’d get nothing.” My heart pounded. “And there’s more,” he added, handing me a letter. Dawn, my sweet girl, I know Charlotte. I know what she’ll do. But you’ve always been the smarter one. The money is in a safety deposit bo —use it wisely. I love you more than anything. —Dad I glanced at the watch on my wrist. Four numbers were etched into the back. A code. Charlotte had thrown out the one person who could have saved her from financial ruin. Days later, my phone rang. Charlotte’s voice shook with panic. “The house is drowning in debt… You have money, don’t you? You have to help me!” I smiled. “I would have—if you’d treated me better.” Then I hung up. Weeks later, I settled into a cozy studio in a lively part of town, close to school and my favorite coffee shop. As for Charlotte? I never found out what happened to her. But one evening, I passed our old house. A SOLD sign stood in the yard. Maybe I should have felt guilty. But I didn’t. Without Dad, that house was never really home
