Sister Had Me Cut From Parents' Will—Never Expected Grandma's Secret Trust Fund

The envelope felt unnaturally heavy in my hands, cream-colored with my grandmother Martha's elegant script across the front. I traced my finger over my name—Rebecca Mitchell—written in her distinctive blue ink. The date on the postmark was three days before she passed away. This letter wasn't supposed to find me until today, exactly one month after they read her will, the same will that left me nothing while my sister Olivia received everything. "You don't have to open it now," Nathan said softly from across my kitchen table, sliding a cup of tea toward me. I shook my head, breaking the seal. "She wanted me to wait until today. I've waited long enough. " As I unfolded the letter, a small key fell onto the table with a metallic clink. I frowned, picking it up, turning it over in my palm. It looked antique, nothing like a modern house key or car key. "What is it? " Nathan asked, leaning forward. My eyes scanned the first lines of my grandmother's letter, and I felt the air leave my lungs all at once. My dearest Becca, If you're reading this, then everything has happened as I feared it might. Your parents have chosen sides, and Olivia has won. But what none of them know is that I've been watching all these years. I've seen how they've treated you. And I've made my own arrangements. This key opens the lockbox in my name at First National Bank in Oakridge. Go alone. What you find there will change everything. I looked up at Nathan, my heart pounding against my ribs. "I think Grandma Martha left me something after all. " Before we jump back in, tell us where you're tuning in from, and if this story touches you, make sure you're subscribed—because tomorrow, I've saved something extra special for you! It all started six months ago at the annual Mitchell Family Charity Gala. Every year, my parents rented out the grand ballroom at the Oakridge Hotel to raise money for local children's charities. It was the social event of the season in our mid-sized Pacific Northwest town, and attendance was mandatory for every Mitchell, no excuses. I loved the cause but dreaded the event. Working as a physical therapist at Oakridge Memorial Hospital meant I spent my days in comfortable scrubs helping patients recover from injuries and surgeries. Squeezing into a formal gown and making small talk with my parents' wealthy friends wasn't exactly my idea of a good time. But disappointing my mother, Eleanor Mitchell, was never an option. I arrived early to help set up, as I always did. The ballroom was a flurry of activity—waitstaff arranging centerpieces, technicians testing the sound system, my father Harold reviewing his speech at the podium. I spotted my mother across the room, elegant in midnight blue, directing the placement of the auction items with military precision. "Rebecca," she called, waving me over without looking up from her clipboard. Not Becca, never Becca. That nickname was reserved for people who actually knew me. "Hi, Mom," I said, kissing her cheek. "The ballroom looks beautiful. " "You're late," she replied, though I wasn't. "Your sister has been here for an hour already. "