I washed my mother, fed her, remained up all night to keep an eye on her, and held her hand when she was in too much pain.
What about Artyom, my brother? He came when it was good for him. Short visits. There are a few flower arrangements here and there. “Please let me know if anything happens.”
And suddenly, out of nowhere, she was gone.
Before I even started to cry, Artyom called me to a “family meeting.” That wasn’t a meeting, though; it was a declaration.
He said in a harsh voice, “The house is mine now,” and pushed papers over the table. “Mom put it in my name.”
I blinked.
“What?”
He let out a breath like he was talking to a child.
“She changed the will last year.” She probably thought I could do it better.
Do a better job of taking care of it?
I lived here all the time. It got clean. Kept her alive.
“You weren’t really there,” I said, shivering.
He shrugged.
“Well, she made the decision.
It felt like the floor was going to break. I didn’t have any money saved up because I was taking care of Mom. And now, with just a few strokes of a pen, my own brother was kicking me out.
A week later, I stood on the porch with my bag at my feet and watched him change the locks.
Then I saw it: a brick that was loose by the steps.
Mom hid several items. Not big, but vital.
Artyom smiled one more time and shut the door.
I smiled too.
Because I believed he had overlooked something.
That night, I cried into a motel pillow until my eyes were so puffy that I couldn’t open them. But by daylight I knew
I had to look more closely. That brick didn’t just show up. When we were kids, Mom encouraged us to pay attention to small things. Sometimes she put notes or little things in unusual places. She was telling me to “pay attention; life hides treasures.”
The next day, I came back when Artyom was busy with a customer. I cautiously pulled the brick out.
There was a yellowed, sealed package underneath it. I trembled my fingers as I tore it open.
There was a key and a folded letter inside.
It said:
*To my love,
If you found this, you probably needed it the most. You have always been able to see more than other people. This key not only opens a door, it also opens a path. Believe in yourself.
“Mom, with all my love.”
I kept the key, not sure but hoping. What was it for? Definitely not this house. I put them in my pocket and walked back to the motel, ready to find out what really happened.
After a few days of thinking about it, I realized what really happened. Mom rented a storage unit years ago when the house was being fixed up. It still had heirlooms that had been lost. Is it possible?
I drove there with my heart beating. The key fit well. When it opened, the door made a creaking sound. Light came through the cracks, and dust floated around like tiny ghosts.
At first, I observed a lot of trash, such old couches, boxes with “Christmas lights” scrawled on them, and LPs. There was a polished chest in the corner.
I knelt down and opened it.
There were papers tied together with ribbon and a small gift box wrapped in ancient, faded flowered paper. I looked at the papers first, and then I stopped.
Property deeds.
There are three flats in the city center, not just one. They have all been paid.
I couldn’t believe what I saw. Mom? She had kept this a secret?
I took the box’s wrapper off. There was a note and a checkbook inside. The letter said:
*My dear,
These apartments are yours. I got them a long time ago to make sure you would be okay. I concealed them because greed may break apart families. Be smart about how you use them. Keep in mind that love and compassion are what make you truly rich.
“Mom, forever yours.”
I cried while I held the letter close to my heart. She knew it would happen. She knew Artyom sought money and kept me safe.
After that, I contacted a lawyer, put the deeds in my name, and started making plans. I talked to charity and determined that these homes should provide people a chance at life.
One became a safe place for women who had been hurt. Another one opened for people who had fought in wars. People who wished to be artists turned the third one into art studios.
People spread the news immediately. People that wished to help showed up. Businesses handed out furniture. People in the area gave their time and skills for free.
Artyom learned.
He came in like a storm, full of rage.
“What are you up to?!” That was supposed to be mine!
“No, Artyom,” I responded in a calm voice. “Mom handed it to me. But is that the most essential thing? “Hey, people are starting over here.” Isn’t that worth more than cash?
He didn’t say anything and walked away.
Months went by. The houses did nicely. Families got better. The youngsters laughed again.
One night, when I was watching kids play in the courtyard, a woman walked up to me. She was a single mother named Svetlana who had escaped from an abuser.
“Thank you so much,” she wept. “You saved us.”
I held her close.
I told them, “Don’t thank me.” “Say thanks to Mom.”
I understand now that inheritance and property are not the same thing. It’s the kind things you do for other people.
You can always see light, even on the darkest nights, if you look intently enough.