When Grandma passed away, my relatives hurried to her house, eager to learn who would inherit her estate. The air buzzed with tension, everyone whispering about money and possessions. I, however, couldn’t stop thinking about Berta — Grandma’s aging dog and constant companion. No one else wanted her; some even suggested giving her away. Remembering how Grandma always said, “Berta is family,” I took her home without hesitation, not realizing that this small act of love would uncover a secret Grandma had carefully left behind.
Weeks went by as Berta adjusted to her new home. One evening, after returning from a long hospital shift, I noticed something I’d never paid attention to before — a tiny engraving on Berta’s collar. It had an address, a locker number, and inside the tag, a small hidden key. Curiosity led me to the train station written on the tag. When I opened the locker, I found a folder marked “For Meredith.” Inside was Grandma’s handwritten letter and her official will. In her gentle script, she revealed that her entire fortune would go to the one who had shown compassion by caring for Berta — not for wealth, but out of love.
My hands shook as I read her words, just as my relatives appeared, having followed me in search of the inheritance. Their voices grew sharp, demanding explanations, but before I could respond, Grandma’s lawyer, Mr. Johnson, arrived. Calmly, he confirmed the will’s authenticity and explained Grandma’s final wish: only the person who had taken Berta selflessly — without knowledge of any inheritance — was the rightful heir. Silence filled the station. My relatives, stunned and defeated, left without another word, their greed replaced by disbelief.
