“The house and all the property go to your cousin, Rachel.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. My fingers clutched the armrest of my chair as I tried to process what I had just heard.

Rachel? The cousin who only visited on holidays? The one who never once cared for my mother, never helped, never even called to check in?

“There must be a mistake,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

The lawyer shook his head. “I double-checked. Your mother’s final wishes were clear. Everything—her house, her savings, her belongings—go to Rachel.”

The room was silent, but I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. Rachel sat across the table, arms folded, looking almost smug.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I said, my voice rising. “I was the one who took care of her! I gave up my life for her! And she left me with nothing?”

The lawyer hesitated before speaking again. “There is… one letter. Addressed to you.”

A letter?

With shaking hands, I took the envelope and slowly opened it. My mother’s handwriting filled the page, and as I read, my heart pounded in my chest.

**”My dearest child,
I know this will hurt, and for that, I am sorry. You gave everything to me, and I love you more than words can say. But that’s exactly why I did this. I see now that I took too much from you—your time, your youth, your freedom. If I left you this house, you’d stay in it, forever trapped in the role of my caregiver, even after I’m gone. I don’t want that for you. You deserve to live. To start fresh. To find happiness beyond these walls.
Please don’t hate me for this. I did it out of love.
Mom.”**

Tears blurred my vision. My mother had taken everything from me in life… and now, in death, she was trying to set me free.

I looked up at Rachel, who was already talking to the lawyer about property transfers. Let her have it. Let her take the house, the money.

Because for the first time in years, I had nothing tying me down.

I was finally free.