For seven years, I had cared for Mrs. Patterson, an elderly woman who had been abandoned by her family. She was frail, lonely, and heartbreakingly hopeful that one day, her children would love her the way she loved them.

But they only visited when they needed money, leaving her sitting by the window, watching them disappear without a second glance.

With no family of my own, she became more than just my employer—she became my family.

One morning, I found her peacefully lying in bed, her hand resting on a photo of her late husband. She was gone. My heart shattered as I sank to the floor. I called her children, and the moment they heard the news, they dismissed me coldly, saying they would “take care of everything.”

At the funeral, her family put on a show—tearful words, somber expressions—but their eyes gleamed with greed. They weren’t mourning her; they were waiting for their payday.

That night, exhausted and heartbroken, I returned to my small rented room. Just as I was about to lose myself in grief, a sharp knock startled me.

When I opened the door, two police officers stood there. One of them spoke.

“Are you Grace?”

“Yes… is something wrong?”

“We need you to come with us.”

Panic surged through me. Had something happened? Was I in trouble?

I followed them to Mrs. Patterson’s house, where her entire family, a lawyer, and a notary were waiting. The tension in the room was suffocating. As soon as I stepped inside, her daughter, Victoria, turned on me.

“It’s her! She manipulated my mother! She planned this whole thing!”

I froze. “I… I don’t understand.”

The lawyer cleared his throat. “We are here to read Mrs. Patterson’s will. Her family requested it be done immediately. And you, Grace, were mentioned in it.”

The room fell silent as he began to read.