They say life’s a rollercoaster—and after 74 years, I can vouch for that. I’ve seen my share of highs and lows, but through it all, I just kept going.
I’m Martha. Most of my life was spent raising my three kids—Betty, Thomas, and Sarah. Their father and I worked hard to give them everything we never had. We weren’t rich, but we managed to put them through college, and I was there for every scraped knee and school recital.
But as they grew older, they got busier. The daily phone calls turned into monthly ones, and visits were rare. After my husband passed, I tried living alone, but after a bad fall, they put me in a nursing home—“for the best,” they said.
For four years, I barely saw them. But when my health declined, they suddenly reappeared—bringing flowers, asking about my meds, and pretending to care. Not out of love, but because they were circling around my inheritance.
I overheard them discussing my funeral plans—like I was already gone. That night, I cried. Then I decided I wasn’t going out like that. I fought back, recovered, and called a family meeting.
They showed up expecting money. What they got was a new will. Each child and grandchild got one dollar. The rest? Donated in memory of my husband and spent on the adventures we never had—Paris, the Grand Canyon, and more.
I didn’t do it out of spite. I did it to remind them: love isn’t proven through inheritance. It’s shown through presence, respect, and care.
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