When Grandma passed away, my relatives rushed to her house, desperate to get their hands on her will. I was the only one who took her old dog home, unaware that she carried more than just memories of Grandma. Days later, I uncovered the secret Grandma had hidden where no one else would even think to look.
I stood at the cemetery, watching as Grandma was lowered into the earth.
I held Berta’s leash tightly, and she strained forward, as if wanting to follow Grandma down.
Berta had been Grandma’s companion. She’d bought her when I was little, and, as Grandma often said, Berta was her closest friend—perhaps the only one she could truly trust.
Grandma was a good person, though particular in her ways.
She had earned a great deal of money during her life but never gave a cent to her children or grandchildren.
Instead, she invested in their education. She believed that everyone should rise on their own, just as she had.
Because of that, neither my mom, nor my uncle and aunt, nor their children spoke to Grandma—or even mentioned her—until that day.
I studied each face around me. I knew why they were really here. Money.
They hoped that after Grandma’s death, they’d finally inherit something. But knowing her, it wouldn’t be that simple.
During the last six months of her life, Grandma had been very ill, and I had moved in to care for her.
Juggling that with my job as a nurse wasn’t easy, but I managed.
I knew Grandma appreciated that someone had stayed with her through those hard days.
But she hadn’t made life easy for me either. I remembered one day when a massive bill arrived for a car repair.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to pay for this,” I said.
“You’re strong. You’ll manage,” Grandma replied.
Of course, I hadn’t expected anything else. She never made exceptions, even for me. But she supported me, guided me—and I was grateful for that.
After the funeral, everyone went to Grandma’s house for the reading of the will. Knowing my family, I had packed all my things beforehand.
I knew they wouldn’t allow me to stay. While waiting for the lawyer, nobody spoke, only exchanging cold, hostile glances.
Then Aunt Florence, probably bored, turned to me. “Meredith, remind me, what kind of doctor are you?” she asked.
“I’m a nurse,” I said.
“A nurse?” Uncle Jack repeated, shocked. “You won’t make money that way. Tom has a car company, and Alice owns several beauty salons,” he added, pointing at my cousins sitting with their noses in the air.
“I help people. That’s enough for me,” I replied.
“I can’t believe I gave birth to her,” Mom muttered.
I spoke to her only three times a year—on my birthday, her birthday, and Christmas, always by phone.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. When no one moved, I opened it myself.
Standing there was Mr. Johnson, the lawyer handling Grandma’s will. I led him into the living room, where my family sat in tense silence.
He remained standing at the doorway, politely refusing my offer to sit.
“I won’t take much of your time,” he said calmly. “There isn’t much to discuss.”
“What do you mean, not much to discuss? What about the will?” Mom asked, annoyed.
“She must have left something to someone,” Uncle Jack said impatiently.
“It seems Cassandra didn’t think so,” Mr. Johnson replied dryly.
“What do you mean?” Aunt Florence asked.
“None of you will inherit anything from Cassandra,” Mr. Johnson said flatly.
The room erupted in shocked gasps.
“How is that possible?! We’re her family! Who gets the money and the house?!” Mom shouted.
“I’m afraid I can’t share that,” Mr. Johnson said. “Now, I must ask all of you to leave.”
But nobody moved.
“That old witch!” Uncle Jack shouted. “I knew she didn’t care about us, but not a penny?!”
“Don’t say that,” I interjected. “Grandma cared. She just showed it in her own way.”
“Yeah, right,” Mom muttered. “She was a witch in life, and she’s still one now.”
At that moment, Berta barked loudly.
“Oh right, and what are we going to do with that dog?” Aunt Florence asked.
“Put her down,” Mom said coldly.
“I agree,” Uncle Jack added. “She’s ancient anyway.”
“You can’t put her down!” I shouted.
“And what are we supposed to do? Better than tossing her on the street,” Mom replied.
“Grandma loved Berta. Someone has to take her,” I said.
The room erupted in bitter laughter.
“If you want her, then take her,” Mom said. “Our mother didn’t care about us. Why should we care about her dog?”
“I can’t. My lease forbids pets,” I said quietly.
“Then it’s settled. We’ll put her down,” Uncle Jack said firmly.
“Tom? Alice?” I looked to my cousins, desperate.
Tom waved me off. Alice shook her head. “No way. I’m not bringing a flea-ridden animal home,” she said.
I exhaled heavily. “Fine. I’ll take Berta,” I said.
Mr. Johnson cleared his throat. “Please leave the house. You no longer have the right to be here,” he said.