My grandmother meant everything to me. She was my rock, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. When she passed away, a void opened up in my heart that nothing could fill. As I stood by her coffin, looking at her peaceful face with her hair styled just the way she liked it, the immense pain of never seeing her again felt overwhelming.

The funeral home was filled with all of her neighbors and friends who had come to say their final goodbyes to a woman who had touched so many hearts and had a lasting impact on many lives. It was a beautiful testament to the incredible person she was.

Through my tears, I noticed my mother standing in the corner of the room. She seemed distant, on her phone, as though she was about to bid farewell to a stranger. I knew that my mother and grandmother had never gotten along, but witnessing her indifference to her own mother’s passing left me stunned.

Later on, as the crowd started to disperse, I found myself talking to Mrs. Anderson, a dear friend of my grandmother’s. She reminded me how much my grandma loved me, which made the situation even more confusing. It was then that I saw my mother discreetly placing something inside the coffin. I couldn’t fathom what it could be since I wasn’t aware of any final wishes my grandmother had shared.

Filled with curiosity, I waited until everyone had left before retrieving the box covered in a blue handkerchief from under my grandmother’s lifeless body. “I’m sorry, Grandma,” I whispered, gently touching her cold hand for the last time.

That evening, I sat staring at the package, wondering what my mother was hiding. With trembling hands, I slowly untied the frayed thread. To my surprise, inside were several letters, each one meticulously handwritten by my grandmother and addressed to my mother.

As I read through the letters, the shocking truth was revealed. My grandmother had known all along what my mother had done. She knew that my mother had been stealing her money to gamble. In the final letter, my grandmother explained that she had decided to leave everything to me – the house, her belongings, and all the money she had been saving over the years.

Discovering this painful truth was overwhelming. I felt frozen, unable to fully comprehend what I had just learned. Suddenly, all of the extravagant Christmas gifts, the seemingly innocent requests to “borrow” my credit card for “emergencies,” and even my mother’s persistence in gaining power of attorney took on a sinister meaning.

The next morning, I called my mother and asked her to meet me at a nearby coffee shop. When she saw me, she smiled and reached out for my hand, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch her. Instead, I placed the stack of letters on the table between us and confronted her. I made it clear that if she tried to go after what my grandmother had rightfully left me, the truth would be exposed.

She tried to speak, but I stood up and left the coffee shop. Some secrets simply can’t be buried and must come to light.