My sister and I were never the best of friends. She was always favored by our parents, which really annoyed me. That’s why I left home early to live by myself. But when my parents both got sick, I was the one who took care of them. My sister was nowhere to be seen. After they died, they left their entire fortune to my sister alone. At the funeral, she mocked what she was going to do with all the money. I stayed behind. A while later I found a letter, and this happened… I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read the letter in my hand. If this was real, it would mean my whole life was about to change, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. What I did know, though, was that the letter’s existence had to be kept a secret, until I figured out what to do with it.  There was only one person I had in mind that I could turn to with this information: our housekeeper, Celest. So, I put the letter in my pocket and left the room. But as I searched the house for Celest, I bumped into my sister. “What you got there, sis?” My heart pounded in my chest as I stood in front of her. She snatched the letter out of my hands and began to read. I watched as her expression changed, and when she looked me in the eye again, all I saw was darkness… But why did her sister inherit everything? What stood in the letter? And how will it change her life? I’ll just start by introducing myself. My name is Zoë. I’m one of two daughters, and my parents are both dead. Wow, that sounds horrible, but that’s kind of the story of my life. Throughout my youth, I always had to compete with my sister. She is the first-born daughter, and me, well, let’s call me an unpleasant surprise. My sister, Julia, is two years older than me, blond, with perfect eyebrows and plump lips. She was the popular one in high school, just as you would imagine, and was voted prom queen almost every year. I, on the other hand, was a little brown-haired wallflower, who didn’t even care to put on make-up. It sounds very cliché, but that truly was my life. Until one day, my sister hurt me so badly that I decided I had to move out. I packed my bags and spent the next three years couch-surfing at friends’ houses. I traded in a mansion with my own room, for couches and back pain, just to get away from my sister. It went great for about three years. My friend’s families looked after me and provided a roof over my head, while I worked my ass off after school to save up enough money for my own place. My parents didn’t really bother getting me back into their home, they did offer me money every month, but I refused. But one day, two days after my nineteenth birthday, I got a call from an unknown number. Of course, I didn’t answer, I knew better than that. But when the number called again and again, I got curious. So, I picked up the phone, not knowing my whole life was about to change.  It was my sister. Her arrogant tone as she said, “Hi, sis,” still lingers with me every time I think back to that moment. She told me I better go home quick, as our parents were very sick, and were getting sicker by the day. Then, she hung up the phone.  I drove to my parent’s house that same day. I’m not going to lie, I almost turned around as I really didn’t want to see my sister again, but I kept going for my parents. When I arrived at the house I once called home, my heart was pounding in my chest.  I still remember the eerie feeling that washed over me as I stepped inside the house. It was bigger than I remembered, and it felt emptier as well. Our housekeeper, Celest, almost didn’t recognize me, judging by the surprised look she had. “Zoë? I can’t believe it! It’s so good to see you, my dear.” She showed me the way to my parents’ room. It was quiet, and they were both asleep in bed. They looked fragile, like a simple hug could snap them in two. I sat down on my mother’s side of the bed and just looked at them. I hadn’t seen them in so long, that they almost felt foreign to me.  Even though my parents never loved me the way they loved my sister, I still loved them the same every child loves their parents. I looked at Celest and asked her where Julia was. “Julia left, my dear. She hasn’t been home in over a week.” I couldn’t believe it.  After all my parents did for her, she just left them in their weakest state. I remember saying, “She was always a heartless bitch, so I’m not surprised,” and watching Celest’s expression change. She even chuckled a bit. That’s when I knew Julia had mistreated her as well, and I hated her for it. I had no other choice but to stay and care for my sick parents. Together with Celest, we made them breakfast, lunch, and dinner, washed their clothes, and even bathed them every morning. We gave them their medicine and fluffed up their pillows, until one morning, they just never woke up again. It was inevitable, but it still hurt. I had just begun to get used to my new routine and had become very close with Celest. Together, we planned their funeral. I had no idea where my sister was staying, so I just texted her the news. I figured she couldn’t care less, as she never even called once to see how they were doing. My sadness still gets overshadowed with anger when I think back at their funeral. Everything was just as Celest and I had planned, and almost everyone we invited showed up to pay their respects. But there’s just one thing that keeps bugging me, and that is how my sister was the one to ruin the day for me. She walked into the house on the day of the funeral, like she already owned the place. She began to order every staff member around and even had the nerve to criticize every little detail I had thought of. As soon as she saw me, she handed me a binder with documents. “Everything is mine now.” And she was right. Inside the binder were the inheritance documents, and my jaw dropped to the floor the moment I read that my parents had left everything, and I truly mean everything, to my sister. She now owned the house, the staff, and my parent’s fortune, and I had nothing. I couldn’t believe my parents would do something like that to their own daughter. And to think I was the one caring for them until their final moments! I was furious, to say the least. “Zoë? What’s the matter, my dear?” Celest asked me as my eyes filled with tears.  I pushed the documents into her hands and ran to my room. Why would I pay respect to my deceased parents, when they clearly never respected me? A little while later, the door to my room opened. “Please go away, Celest,” I said, not knowing it wasn’t Celest walking through the door. “Don’t cry, little sister of mine,” Julia said. I turned around and saw her smug smile. “I can always lend you money if you need it.” The arrogance was horribly obvious. “Go away,” I said as I buried my face in my pillow. “But, don’t you want to know what will happen next?”  I sat up straight and wiped the tears from my burning eyes. I sighed, “What do you mean? You already have everything?” Julia chuckled. “Yeah, well. You might have lived here in the past weeks, but don’t think for a second you’re allowed to stay after today. Tomorrow, this house is going up for sale.” I knew my sister was nothing short of an evil human being, but I was still surprised by her lack of grief. She had absolutely no regard for my parent’s belongings and the memories she had in this house. “Why would you do that?” I asked her, but deep down, I already knew her reasons. “I already have an offer down on a mansion by the sea. Selling this house would mean I get to live my dream life, never having to work or worry about money. It’s a win-win.” I was stunned by her audacity. “A win-win? For who?!” I couldn’t believe I was related to such a heartless person. When Julia left my room, I stayed behind, feeling enraged and hurt, but also empty. She had taken my youth from me, and now she tried to ruin my future as well. Without my parent’s house, I was homeless again, and she knew that. How could I ever build a life for myself without a roof over my head? I stayed for the rest of the funeral, but as soon as all the guests were gone, I went back to my room. I decided, since my sister already had enough money, I would just take every valuable thing I could find with me, and sell it to be able to rent a place somewhere.  I packed up the gold candlesticks, the silverware, and a few of my grandmother’s crystal vases, and I even took a painting off the wall in one of the bathrooms. I was on my way out with two bags full of stuff when I suddenly bumped into Celest. She looked at me, down at my bags, and back at me. Busted.  Or so I thought. Because instead of telling on me, she gave me a reassuring smile. Then she leaned in for a hug and whispered something in my ear. “Check under your parent’s bed,” she said, and she squeezed my arms. I confusedly smiled back at her, and we went our separate ways. I nervously looked around to ensure no one saw that and hurried to my parent’s room. If I had bumped into my sister, she would have never let me leave like that. The room felt cold and empty; I hadn’t been there since I found my parents unresponsive in their bed.  The room was drenched in memories. Every corner, every object brought a flood of recollections. Sitting on my parents’ bed, the soft fabric beneath me felt like a connection to simpler times. Their scent still lingered, enveloping me in waves of nostalgia. This room held them all from laughter during sunny days in the garden to whispered conversations on stormy nights. I was enveloped by these moments, reliving every happy and sad memory. I was jolted from my reverie by faint sounds from outside. It was then that something caught my eye: a peek of wood from beneath the bed. Kneeling down, I pulled out a beautifully carved little box. Its old, intricate designs hinted at age and secrets. Holding it, my fingers traced the patterns, wondering what tales this tiny artifact might tell. It felt heavy with importance. My heart raced as the door began to creak open. Quick thinking pushed me beneath the bed, tightly gripping the mysterious box. The familiar rhythm of Julia’s footsteps made my heart pound louder. She seemed to be searching for something, her voice echoing with a mix of frustration and anticipation. Lying there, holding my breath, every moment felt drawn out and intensified. After what felt like hours, Julia’s presence faded away. I cautiously made my move. Navigating the hallways and rooms that once felt so familiar now seemed like a daunting labyrinth. The box pressed against my side, a constant reminder of the discovery. Finally, with the back door in sight, I slipped out, taking in the comforting embrace of the open air. Walking down the path, still catching my breath, I almost collided with Celest. Her knowing eyes, filled with warmth and concern, seemed to see right through my distress. Without prompting, she handed over a key with an etched address. “Find comfort there,” she whispered, nodding towards the box. Gratitude swelled in me. Celest, always our beacon, had come through once more. Inside Celest’s home, there was a distinct sense of tranquility. Walls adorned with family photos evoked a sense of belonging. Her cozy living room, with its mismatched cushions and soft lighting, seemed to whisper tales of past gatherings. Over cups of tea, Celest and I journeyed down memory lane, sharing stories of my parents and our intertwined pasts. Here, I truly felt safe and understood. Back in Celest’s sitting room, the box demanded my attention. Its lock was an enigma, resisting all my attempts at opening it. Frustration mixed with an insatiable curiosity. Every failed try increased my determination. What secrets did it guard? And why did my parents hide it? With every passing moment, my resolve to uncover the truth grew stronger. With so many emotions swirling in my mind, I needed a break. Stepping out of Celest’s cozy abode, the fresh air hit me, invigorating my senses. The sounds of children playing and birds chirping in the distance gave a rhythm to my wandering feet. Celest’s neighborhood was familiar yet different — each house, tree, and lane had its own story, beckoning me to explore further. Wandering through the streets, an old-fashioned sign reading “Benny’s Locksmith” caught my eye. Pushing the door open, a bell jingled, announcing my arrival. An elderly man, with gray hair and a gentle smile, looked up. “How can I assist you, young lady?” he inquired. Clutching the box tighter, I approached him, sharing its story and my desperate need to unlock its mysteries. As he examined the box, a glimmer of recognition appeared in his eyes. “Your parents,” he began hesitantly, “I remember them. They visited here once.” A tale of a younger couple, laughing and whispering secrets, unfolded. The world seemed smaller as I listened to the locksmith’s memories, feeling closer to my parents with each word. With a determined look, the locksmith began his craft. He probed the lock with various tools, his brow furrowing deeper with each attempt. Time seemed to slow. After what felt like hours, he sighed, defeated. “It’s a unique lock,” he admitted. However, not leaving me empty-handed, he gave me a peculiar-looking tool. “This might help,” he said with hope in his eyes. Back at Celest’s, the aroma of a freshly cooked meal filled the air. Sitting at her dining table, we shared stories over hearty bowls of stew. Each laugh, each tear, drew us closer. We talked about our dreams, aspirations, and the legacy left behind by my parents. With Celest by my side, the weight of the past felt lighter, and the future seemed brighter. Later that evening, in the dim light of Celest’s living room, I took a deep breath and tried the tool. With a soft click, the box finally revealed its secrets. Inside, there lay a set of old letters and photographs — traces of my parents’ past, waiting for me to discover. But there was more…  Inside the mysterious box, a hefty stack of cash was neatly placed on top. Why had my parents hidden such a large sum here? The money was unexpected, but I felt a growing curiosity about what might lie beneath it. Gingerly removing the bills, I braced myself for another revelation. As the cash was set aside, a trove of old photographs lay before me. They showcased my parents from times I never witnessed: young, carefree, and deeply in love. Their joy was palpable, each snapshot a window into a world before I was even born. The intrigue grew; what other secrets did this box hold? I shared the photos with Celest, whose eyes gleamed with recognition. “That’s your mom on her 21st birthday,” she exclaimed, pointing to a picture. With each image, she unveiled a new tale, painting a vivid tapestry of my parents’ past and filling in the blanks of stories I’d only half known. Digging deeper, an ornate silver key caught my eye. It was neither modern nor familiar. I couldn’t recall any lock in our home that matched its intricate design. Its presence was puzzling – what door, or maybe a chest, did this key open? Questions bubbled in my mind. A sudden message from a neighbor brought disturbing news: Julia was talking to real estate agents. My heart thudded – our family home was in jeopardy. The place where our memories, good and bad, resided was now at risk of becoming someone else’s. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on me. Under the photographs, an envelope with my name in mom’s familiar handwriting awaited. The anticipation of its contents gave me pause. With a deep breath, I broke the seal, hoping for answers or maybe just a connection to the parents I missed so deeply. As I read the letter, every sentence unveiled shocking truths. My parents had altered their will, bequeathing both Julia and me equal shares of their assets. But the revelation that struck me hardest was the fate of our family home. It was mine. My eyes teared up, overwhelmed by the enormity of their final decision. The wind had barely settled when Julia stormed in, her face a mask of disbelief and fury. “This is a lie, Zoë!” she spat. I stood my ground, clutching the letter close. “It’s their wish, Julia,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. Our once shared pain was now a chasm, separating two sisters with the gulf of legal warfare. I knew I needed guidance. Mr. Allen, a well-regarded lawyer in town, was my choice. His office smelled of old books and aged wood. “This will isn’t just paper,” I whispered, handing over the letter. “It’s the voice of our parents.” He nodded, assuring me he’d stand by my side in the impending storm. The town was abuzz. From the grocery store to the post office, everyone was talking about it. I overheard Mrs. Granger saying, “Poor Zoë, always by her parents’ side.” I felt a swell of gratitude. So many had seen the love and care I’d shown our parents. Their support was like a warm blanket against the cold winds of this dispute. Julia wasn’t backing down. She spread stories, insisting the letter was a sham. “Zoë’s playing us all,” she’d hiss to anyone who’d listen. My heart ached. How had our bond frayed so badly? I prayed that truth would prevail. The day Mr. Allen called me back to his office felt like an eternity. But his news was worth the wait. “The letter’s genuine,” he proclaimed, showing me reports and expert testimonials. A rush of relief surged through me. Our parents’ wishes were clear, and I had the truth on my side. The next step awaited. The courtroom was packed. As I took my seat, the weight of the gaze from Julia’s side of the family pressed on me. There she was, once my confidante, now my opponent. Our eyes met briefly, memories of better days flashing between us. But then, the gavel sounded, breaking the spell. “All rise,” the bailiff called. This wasn’t just a battle for property; it was one for our family’s legacy. The judge’s voice was stern yet compassionate. “The will presented by Zoë is valid.” The room seemed to tense up and let out a collective sigh at the same time. I felt a rush of emotions: relief, sadness, and an overwhelming longing for my parents. I wished they were here to see justice served, but also to bridge the widening gap between Julia and me. The house felt different after the verdict. Not just a structure, but a testament to my parents’ love and wishes. With each polish, scrub, and paint stroke, I felt their presence. Their laughter echoed in the hallways, their wisdom in the stillness of the rooms. Bringing the house back to its former glory was my way of saying, “Thank you, Mom and Dad.” I saw the moving van from my window. Julia, with boxes in tow, looked back at our family home one last time. Our eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, I saw a glimpse of the sister I once knew. Words weren’t exchanged, but there was a silent acknowledgment of the pain we both felt. She drove away, leaving behind more than just the house. Celest was there, like always, with her unwavering support. The community, too, stood by me. In their gestures, kind words, and invitations, I felt loved. The house became more than bricks and mortar. It was a sanctuary of memories, love, and new beginnings. There, amid its walls, I found my purpose and peace. My parents might be gone, but their legacy will forever thrive through me.