Grief is supposed to bring families together, but for me and my sister, Valeria, it had only driven a wedge between us. Three months had passed since we lost Mom, and in that time, the truth I never wanted to believe had revealed itself—Valeria had stolen our mother’s will.
Growing up, my sister and I were never particularly close. She was the one who excelled at everything, while I was always the quiet one in the background. But Mom had loved us both equally, and she had been clear about what she wanted: the house would be split between us, and whatever money was left would go to the grandkids. That had always been the plan.
Except now, suddenly, there was a new plan—one that conveniently cut me out.
Valeria claimed Mom had updated her will before she passed, leaving the entire house to her and a small sum of money to me. “It’s just how it worked out,” she said, her voice thick with fake sympathy. But I knew my mother. She would have never changed things so drastically without telling me.
I wanted to believe Valeria. I needed to believe her. But the way she avoided my questions, the way she kept dodging when I asked to see the will, made my stomach churn.
So, I decided to find out the truth myself.
I contacted Mom’s lawyer, and what he told me nearly knocked the breath out of me.
“The last will we have on record splits the house between you and your sister,” he said. “There were no changes. As far as I know, that’s still the legally binding document.”
I felt my heart pounding in my chest. No changes. Which meant Valeria was lying.
That night, I went to her house, my hands shaking as I knocked on the door. When she opened it, she barely looked surprised to see me.
“I know you have the real will,” I said, skipping any pleasantries. “I spoke to Mom’s lawyer. He told me there were no changes.”
Valeria didn’t flinch. She just leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Then, with a smirk, she said, “It’s the right thing to do. You don’t have any children, so I should get a bigger share.”
I stared at her, trying to process what I had just heard.
“This isn’t about right and wrong,” I snapped. “Mom wanted things to be fair.”
Valeria scoffed. “Fair? You don’t even need the house. I have three kids to think about. You’re alone. You can get an apartment, move somewhere cheap. Mom would have wanted me to have more.”
Her words stung, but they also fueled my anger. “That’s not your decision to make,” I said. “That’s why there was a will.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you really want to drag this out? Take me to court? Think about it. Do you have the time, the money? You’ll only make things ugly, and in the end, it won’t change anything.”
She thought I would give up. That I would be too scared of a legal battle, too beaten down by grief to fight back.
She was wrong.
I left that night without another word. But I wasn’t about to let her win.
The next morning, I met with the lawyer in person. “What happens if someone is hiding the real will?” I asked him.
He sighed. “If you can prove there was tampering, we can contest any false claims. But we’ll need evidence.”
Evidence.
I thought about Valeria’s house, about the filing cabinets in her home office, the lockbox in her bedroom. If she had taken the will, it had to be somewhere.
That night, I did something I never imagined myself doing. I broke into my sister’s house.
It wasn’t hard—I still had the spare key from years ago, and I knew she’d be out late with her friends. My hands trembled as I stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old wood, the same scent I remembered from childhood visits.
I moved quickly, checking the drawers in her desk, flipping through folders. Nothing. Then I saw it—a small lockbox tucked inside her closet.
My heart pounded as I pulled it out. It was locked, but the combination was probably something obvious. I tried her birthday. Nothing. Her daughter’s birthday. Still nothing. Then I tried Mom’s birthday.
Click.
The lock released, and inside, there it was—a stack of papers, with Mom’s handwriting scrawled across the top. The real will. The one that split everything evenly.
My throat tightened as I stared at it. She really stole it.
I took pictures of everything, making sure I had proof before carefully placing it back. Then I left, locking up behind me like I had never been there.
The next day, I filed a claim with the lawyer. With the photos as evidence, Valeria had no way out. She was forced to surrender the real will, and the house was officially split just as Mom had intended.Valeria didn’t speak to me for weeks. When she finally did, it wasn’t an apology—it was a bitter, resentful, “I hope you’re happy.”
But I was. Not because I had won, but because justice had been served.
In the end, I chose not to press charges. As much as Valeria had betrayed me, she was still my sister. And deep down, I knew she wasn’t evil—just desperate.
I sold my half of the house, took my share of the money, and started fresh somewhere new. Somewhere free of resentment, free of betrayal.
And for the first time since Mom’s passing, I felt like I could finally breathe.
Would you have done the same? Let me know in the comments, and don’t forget to share this story!
