I first knew something was wrong when my brother drove up in a bright red convertible. I had no idea that the car was tied to an unexpected betrayal—and a plan my Nana made before she died.

My name is Willow. I’m 26 years old, and I’ve been living away from home for the past four years. Leaving was the best decision I ever made—walking away from my family and all the pain tied to them.

I never really belonged in that house. My parents always favored my older brother, Peregrine. They called him Perry—their golden child. Their star. Growing up, I was just… there. Nana used to tease me by calling me “the extra,” but at least she did it with a warm smile.

That favoritism was one of the reasons I left. That—and Finn, my boyfriend. He told me to live for myself, to step out from my family’s shadow.

I moved to the city with him in our little car, leaving behind my parents, Perry, and all the memories that still stung.

“Finn, I just couldn’t stay there anymore,” I told him one night over dinner. I still remember how he smiled, reaching across the table to take my hand.

“Willow,” he said gently. “You don’t need to explain. You did the right thing. You deserve more than being overlooked.”

After I left, I barely kept in touch with my family. The occasional short text, maybe a call once in a blue moon—but mostly silence. My parents made no effort. It felt like I’d disappeared from their lives entirely.
Only Nana stayed in touch.

She was the only one who ever made me feel like I mattered. I remembered how she used to hide chocolate bars from Mom just for me, or how she’d call late at night to ask how my day was when I was a kid.

She didn’t care that my stories were boring or that my room was messy. She just listened.

And then one day, I found out she was gone. By accident. No call. No message. Nothing.

Can you imagine?

I was scrolling through Facebook when I saw it. A photo of Nana, with dates underneath and a caption: “Rest in Peace.”

I couldn’t breathe. I stared at my phone, confused, like the screen had betrayed me. It didn’t make sense. My chest tightened like a vice.

I stood up, the phone slipping from my fingers onto the table. “Nana’s gone.”

Finn looked up from the couch. “What? What do you mean she left?”

“She’s dead, Finn. She died. And no one told me.” My voice shook, my eyes burned with grief and fury. “How could they not tell me?”

Finn jumped up and wrapped his arms around me, but no comfort could reach me.
Why didn’t my parents call? Or Perry? Nothing.

That night, I booked a flight home. I needed to see Nana’s grave with my own eyes. I needed to say goodbye—my way.

The next morning, I walked through my hometown, a place I hadn’t seen in years. Everything looked the same—except for one thing.

As I turned onto a street near the cemetery, something made me stop cold.

A gleaming red convertible rolled past, driven by none other than Perry.

Perry? The same Perry who’d always struggled to keep a job? The one who couldn’t afford rent most months?

That car looked like it cost more than everything he owned.

My stomach dropped. Something was definitely off.

Later that day, I stood by Nana’s grave, beneath whispering trees and fresh soil. My heart twisted in my chest. She was really gone. I never got to tell her I loved her one last time. I never got to say goodbye.

Finding out about her death on Facebook still stung like salt in a wound.

As I knelt beside her tombstone, I heard footsteps approaching.

It was Mr. Hawthorne—Nana’s oldest friend. He was always around, helping her with things around the house. The kind of man who showed up when needed and never asked for thanks.

He stepped up beside me, his voice soft. “Willow, I’m so sorry. Your Nana… she was something special.”

I swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “She really was. I just wish I had more time with her.”

He nodded, eyes distant. Then, after a pause, he asked, “Did you get the twenty thousand dollars she left you?”

I blinked. “The… what?”

Mr. Hawthorne’s expression changed. “In her will. Your Nana left you $20,000. I assumed you already knew.”

My heart dropped to my stomach.

Everything clicked. The red convertible. Perry driving it around like a prince.

My fists clenched. “No,” I said, standing up. “I didn’t know.”

Mr. Hawthorne went pale. “Oh no. Willow, I’m so sorry.”

But I’d already stopped listening.

I was heading straight to Perry’s trailer.

I was ready to explode. But when I arrived, I didn’t find what I expected.

The red convertible was wrecked—sitting crooked in the driveway with a smashed windshield, busted bumper, and deflated tires. It looked like it had been in a bad accident.

Perry stood in the doorway, leaning on crutches, a cast on his leg, and bruises covering his face.

Karma, I thought.

My fury gave way to shock.

I walked up, stunned. “Perry, what the hell happened?”

He glanced away. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” I pointed at the mangled car. “That’s not nothing. You crashed a $20,000 car. Why, Perry? Why did you steal the money Nana left me?”

He winced. Caught red-handed.

“I didn’t mean for it to go this way,” he muttered. “I was going to borrow it. Pay you back. But then I saw the car and… I don’t know.”

“Borrow it?” I laughed, cold and bitter. “You don’t ‘borrow’ $20,000 someone left to someone else. Nana gave that to me. And you just took it—like you’ve always taken everything.”

He tried to respond, but I didn’t let him.

“You always got everything, Perry. Mom and Dad worshipped you. I was invisible. But this? This wasn’t from them. This was Nana. The one person who truly cared about me. And you stole from her.”

He lowered his head. “I messed up, okay? I thought—”

“You thought what?” I snapped. “That I wouldn’t find out? That I didn’t deserve it? That Nana didn’t mean what she wrote?”

He didn’t answer.

We stood there in tense silence, the weight of everything hanging between us. Then my phone buzzed.

It was a call from Mr. Whitlock—Nana’s lawyer.

“Mr. Whitlock?” I said, glancing at Perry.

“Willow,” he said calmly. “I’ve been reviewing your grandmother’s will. There’s something you should know. She suspected something like this might happen.”

“You mean Perry?”

“Yes. She had a backup plan. The $20,000 was only part of her estate. You’re actually the sole heir. Her house, savings, investments—all of it belongs to you.”

My breath caught. “Everything?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Your grandmother made it very clear. She wanted to make sure you’d be okay. That you’d never have to depend on anyone.”

Tears welled in my eyes—not from grief this time, but from overwhelming gratitude. Nana had seen this coming. And even in death, she protected me.

I looked at Perry, my voice steady. “I hope that convertible was worth it. I hope you enjoyed the ride.”

“Willow, I—” he began, his voice cracking.

I raised a hand. “Don’t. No more excuses. No more taking. Just stop.”

And I turned around, walking away without another word.

For the first time, I didn’t feel like the forgotten sibling.

Nana had made sure of that.