My beloved grandma spent her days in an old trailer, a fact that I find myself reflecting on often. I regret to say that my husband seemed to relish the thought of her passing, imagining that we would suddenly inherit a fortune. I knew deep down that my grandma didn’t possess millions, but rumors swirled, and my husband eagerly anticipated the prospect of that money becoming ours. However, my wise grandma had a different perspective.
When she passed away, we attended the reading of her will at the lawyer’s office. To our surprise, it was revealed that she didn’t own the old trailer; she had sold it to a neighbor years before but continued to live there. The funds from the sale were used for her travels—not extravagant ones, but delightful weekend getaways to hotels and destinations she had always wanted to explore. My husband, Bernard, was furious.
“But where’s her money? There must be some hidden fortune!” he insisted to the lawyer, who patiently reassured him that there was none.
My grandma left me a letter, and the lawyer suggested I read it privately. I took it home, eager for some quiet time to absorb her words. Bernard reminded me repeatedly that if there was anything about money in the letter, it belonged to both of us since we were married.
I was beginning to grasp just how greedy Bernard truly was. For him, everything revolved around finances. Meanwhile, my grandma’s letter moved me to tears. She imparted her timeless wisdom once again, emphasizing that true value doesn’t lie in material possessions but in the peace one finds in life. She reminded me of my caring nature and urged me never to forget that greed could taint one’s spirit.
Furthermore, she instructed me to visit the old oak tree behind the trailer, where I would find a final gift waiting for me. She emphasized that it wasn’t a hidden treasure but something she knew I would deeply appreciate. The next day, Bernard and I made our way to the tree. There, we uncovered a collection of old photographs, her cherished recipe book, and a key. It belonged to an old cottage by the lake, about thirty miles away. It turned out my grandma had spent a great deal of time there.
Bernard was eager to rush to the cottage. Upon arrival, we discovered it was a quaint two-bedroom log cabin with creaky floors and a patch of land leading to a small, sparkling lake.
The first thing Bernard said was, “How much do you think we can sell this for?”
Once again, it was all about money for him.
“Why would I sell it?” I replied. “This belonged to the most special person in my life, and there’s no amount of money that would make me part with it.”
His frustration was palpable. In the weeks that followed, I began spending more time at the cottage. I repainted and renovated it, eventually transforming it into a lovely bed-and-breakfast with Erna’s help.
I wanted others to experience the tranquility and joy that this place offered.
My grandma had taught me that wealth isn’t measured in dollars, but in the love we share. As for Bernard, I realized my marriage was nearing its end when he couldn’t hide his greediness over my grandma’s death, thinking he would become an instant millionaire.
I no longer wanted a person like him in my life.
Moving on was challenging, but I eventually found my sanctuary and my peace.
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