I was driven to a lawyer’s office, not a police station. The officer smiled gently. “Don’t worry, Miss Grace. You’re not in trouble. Mrs. Patterson left something behind—and she made it very clear it had to be revealed in person.”

Inside, I found her attorney waiting with a sealed envelope. “Grace,” he said, sliding it across the desk, “this is her final wish.”

My hands trembled as I opened it.

It was a handwritten letter:

“My dearest Grace,
If you’re reading this, I’m no longer there to tell you in person how much you meant to me. You were more than a caregiver—you were my light, my family, my only true companion.
That’s why I’ve left everything to you—my home, my savings, and my garden. Let the greedy come and go, but you… you stayed.
Live your life in joy. Plant flowers. Bake pies. And always remember—you were deeply loved.
Forever,
Margaret Patterson”

The lawyer confirmed it—I was the sole heir.

Her family contested the will, of course. But they had no case. Photos, letters, and testimonies from staff painted a clear picture: I was her family in every way that mattered.

Lesson: Blood makes you related. Love makes you family.