I was Mrs. Patterson’s caregiver for seven years. Her family had long abandoned her, visiting only to fake affection and take her money. But to me, she was more than a patient—she was my only family.
We shared laughter, stories, and simple joys. She’d often say, “You’re the only one who truly cares.” I didn’t know then that she meant to leave me everything.
After her death, her family rushed in like vultures. They fired me immediately and planned a quick funeral. I thought that was the end—until police knocked on my door and escorted me to the house.
Her family accused me of manipulation. But then the lawyer read her will: she had left everything to me—her house, her money, her estate. Her children? She left them only her forgiveness.
Enraged, they lunged at me, but security stepped in. Mrs. Patterson had planned this—she knew what they were capable of. She left behind photos, letters, and proof of our bond.
They walked out with nothing. And I stayed, overwhelmed, holding the key to a home filled with love—not wealth. She wasn’t just my employer.
She was my grandmother in spirit.
And she made sure I’d never be alone again.
