One morning, I knocked on her door.
No answer.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
I went inside.
Mrs. Rhode was sitting in her favorite armchair.
The television was still playing an old game show.
A cup of tea sat beside her.
It had gone cold.
She had passed away peacefully in her sleep.
I stood there for several minutes.
I didn’t know what to do.
She had been difficult.
Stubborn.
Annoying.
Funny.
Kind.
And somehow, she had become family.
I cried that morning.
Not because of the inheritance.
Because she was gone.
Part 7 — The Will Reading
A few days later, the lawyer read the will.
I sat quietly, waiting to hear my name.
I expected the house.
I expected the savings.
I expected everything she had promised me.
Instead, the lawyer read the first provision.
The house was going to charity.
Then the savings were being donated to her church.
Her jewelry was going to a niece.
A woman who, as far as I knew, had barely visited her.
I waited.
Surely there was something for me.
But the lawyer continued.
And eventually, he finished.
My name hadn’t been mentioned.
I got nothing.
Not a dollar.
Not a house.
Not even a personal letter.
I walked home feeling humiliated.
For years, I had believed that I finally mattered to someone.
Now I wondered whether I’d simply been working for an inheritance that never existed.
Part 8 — The Knock at My Door
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