“Call me when she’s gone,” Mia said flatly. Then she hung up.
Two days later, my stepmom passed away.
At the reading of the will, Mia arrived dressed in black designer clothes, her face dry and composed. She inherited everything—my stepmom’s savings, her apartment, her jewelry, even the furniture. When the lawyer turned to me, he handed me a single item.
An old potted plant.
That was it.
I didn’t feel angry. I truly wasn’t after her money. That plant had sat in the corner of the living room for years. I’d watered it, trimmed it, talked to it during lonely nights. It felt… fitting.
Mia didn’t agree.
She smirked as we left the office. “She used you all those years,” she said cruelly. “Free care, free help. Hope it teaches you something.”
I said nothing. I picked up the plant and went home.
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