My grandmother, Loretta, had always been a strict presence in my life. After my mother passed away, she took on the role of guardian, raising me with a firm hand. Everything had to be perfect – my grades, my posture, even the way I folded napkins. It was exhausting, but I tried my best to meet her expectations.
When my father passed away, I expected to inherit his estate and money. Loretta had always been vocal about securing our family’s legacy, and I assumed she had a plan in place. But during the reading of the will, the lawyer uttered a name that shook everything – Brenna. It turned out she was my half-sister, and my father had left everything to her.
I was stunned, and Loretta’s reaction was immediate and fierce. She demanded that we find Brenna and convince her to hand over the inheritance. I reluctantly agreed, but as I met Brenna, I began to see things differently. She was kind, gentle, and quirky, with a passion for pottery. Her world was vastly different from mine, and I found myself drawn to her warmth and sincerity.
As I spent more time with Brenna, I realized that she wasn’t the person Loretta had described. She was genuine, and her innocence was disarming. We started to bond, and I found myself wanting to know more about her and our father. But Loretta’s calls became more frequent, urging me to take action and secure the inheritance.
One day, Loretta arrived unannounced at Brenna’s house, her presence disrupting the peace. She demanded that Brenna hand over the inheritance, but I stood up for my sister, refusing to let Loretta manipulate her. It was then that we discovered a stack of old letters from Brenna’s mother to our father, revealing a family secret that Loretta had kept hidden for years.
Loretta’s past actions were revealed, and her cruelty was exposed. But in that moment, something shifted inside me. I realized that I didn’t need to live up to Loretta’s expectations. I chose to stand by Brenna, and together, we started building a new life. We worked on Brenna’s pottery studio, and I rediscovered my love for painting. For the first time, I was living for myself and my sister, not just meeting someone else’s standards. Our life wasn’t perfect, but it was ours, and that was all that mattered.
