Before my dad passed away, it was just the three of us living in his house—me, my dad, and my older sister (35). But if I’m being honest, she was barely around. She never seemed to consider herself part of our family. The house was more of a crash pad for her than a home.
Two weeks ago, my dad passed away. We were incredibly close—unlike my sister, who always kept her distance.
Then came the will.
At the lawyer’s office, we found out that my dad left the entire house to my sister. And me? I got his old watch.
I nearly broke down when I held it. It felt like I was holding a piece of him.
For a few days, we still lived under the same roof—until, out of nowhere, my sister said, “This is it. Our paths split here. I need you to leave.”
I had just gotten home from work. And my stuff? Already packed, dumped by the door.
Panicked, I called our lawyer, telling him my sister had kicked me out and that I needed advice.
But instead of sympathy, I heard something unexpected—he laughed.
Continued on the next page
