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

We tumbled into the living room. Quentin was already there, coffee in hand.

“Santa went overboard,” he said, nodding at the pile of presents.

The kids tore through boxes and paper. Quentin helped untwist zip ties, opening plastic, putting batteries into things.

For a while, I forgot about the package.

When they finally took their toys to their rooms to play, the house went quiet.

That’s when I saw it again.

The box under the tree.

Quentin followed my gaze.

“You should open it,” he said softly.

My heart hammered.

I sat on the floor and picked up the box.

It was lighter than I remembered.

Carefully, I peeled back the tape.

Inside were chocolates.

The cheap, old-fashioned kind Mom always bought at Christmas. Gold foil. Slightly waxy smell.

I stared, confused.

Then I saw the envelope underneath.

My name.

In her handwriting.

My throat tightened.

Continue reading…