My Mother Left Me Her House, but Only If I Let My Brother Move in – on Christmas Morning, Everything Finally Made Sense

“He’s trying,” she whispered.

I watched him like a hawk.

Every time he left, I checked the medicine bottles.

Every time he came back, I studied his eyes.

I wanted him to be better.

I also fully expected him to ruin it.

One afternoon, I came into the kitchen and found him staring into an empty mug.

“You’re counting, aren’t you?” he said without looking at me.

“My mistakes. The hours I’m gone. The times I don’t answer.”

I froze.

“Well, someone has to.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Guess so.”

A couple of weeks later, Mom asked me to sit on her bed.

Her skin looked papery.

Her blankets swallowed her.

“I changed my will,” she said.

My stomach clenched. “Okay…”

I blinked. That house meant no more rent.

A yard. Stability for the kids.

“Mom,” I whispered, “thank you.”

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