For seven years, I cared for Mrs. Patterson, an elderly woman abandoned by her family. She was frail, lonely, and heartbreakingly hopeful that one day, her children would love her as she loved them. But they only visited when they needed money, leaving her by the window, watching them disappear without a second glance. With no family of my own, she became more than just my employer—she became my family. One morning, I found her peacefully lying in bed, her hand resting on a photo of her late husband. She was gone. My heart shattered. When I called her children, they dismissed me coldly, saying they would “take care of everything.” At the funeral, they put on a show—tearful words, somber expressions—but their eyes gleamed with greed. They weren’t mourning her; they were waiting for their payday. That night, exhausted and heartbroken, I returned to my small rented room. A sharp knock startled me. Two police officers stood at the door. “Are you Grace?” “Yes… is something wrong?” “We need you to come with us.” Panic surged through me. Had something happened? Was I in trouble? At Mrs. Patterson’s house, her entire family, a lawyer, and a notary were waiting. The tension was suffocating. Victoria, her daughter, turned on me. “It’s her! She manipulated my mother! She planned this whole thing!” I froze. “I… I don’t understand.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “We are here to read Mrs. Patterson’s will. Her family requested it be done immediately. And you, Grace, were mentioned in it.” Silence filled the room as he began. “To my children, I leave my forgiveness, for they forsook me long ago.” A gasp. Clenched fists. “To my grandchildren, I leave my hope that they will one day understand the value of love and loyalty.” Excitement faded from their faces. “And to my Grace, who has been my caretaker, my friend, and my family… I leave everything. The house, the land, the money—all of it.” The room erupted. Victoria collapsed onto the couch. “She… she left us nothing?” The lawyer nodded. “She made it clear that you abandoned her. This was her final wish.” To silence disputes, Mrs. Patterson left proof—letters, photos, and records of our time together. The lawyer handed me a box filled with memories—snapshots of us baking, laughing, playing board games. Letters in her delicate handwriting, expressing her love for me. She had known her family would react this way. Her will included one final instruction: “Ensure my caretaker, Grace, has security present when my family learns of my decision. I do not trust them to handle this with grace.” Guards escorted her furious family out. Their protests faded into the night. The lawyer turned to me. “She loved you, Grace. She wanted you to have a home. A family. Honor her memory by living in the place she cherished.” I looked around, overwhelmed. The house that had once been my second home was now mine. Mrs. Patterson had given me more than property—she had given me belonging. Holding the box of memories close, I realized she would always be with me. My friend, my grandmother, my home