
I always believed family was unbreakable—until my mother passed away and my sister, Barbara, turned everything upside down.
Barbara had always been the golden child, adored by our mother, while I, Charlotte, was the overlooked one. I stayed to care for Mom through her illness while Barbara chased fame. When Mom died, Barbara swooped in, not to grieve, but to claim her inheritance.
At the will reading, Barbara produced an old adoption document claiming I wasn’t Mom’s real daughter. I was devastated, but something felt off—the name on the decree was erased. I insisted on a DNA test.
The results shocked us both: Barbara wasn’t biologically related to our mother—I was.
Aunt Helen confirmed the truth. Mom had found Barbara abandoned as a toddler and adopted her out of love. She never told either of us because to her, it didn’t matter. We were both her daughters.
But Barbara tried to use that truth to cut me out. When I took her to court, she lost everything—her claim, her pride, and her sister.
She tried to erase me from our mother’s legacy. Instead, she erased herself.
And honestly? She got exactly what she deserved.
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