When our mother fell seriously ill, my younger sister suddenly transformed into the perfect daughter. Sarah moved into Mom’s house overnight and took complete control of everything — including who was allowed to see her. And apparently, that didn’t include me.

“I’m taking care of things,” she said when I protested. “You don’t need to come.”

I knew Sarah well enough to know this wasn’t about love or devotion. She had never been the type to put others first — especially not our mother.

It broke my heart, but I couldn’t stop her. Not then. Everything changed the day the doctor handed me Mom’s last note — a note that would reveal more than I ever expected.

---

Growing up, it was just the three of us — Mom, Sarah, and me. Our dad left when Sarah was still a toddler, and our mother worked herself to the bone to keep us clothed and fed.

I’ll never forget that tiny apartment we lived in — drafty, cold in the winter, always smelling faintly of must and old carpet. The walls were thin enough to hear the neighbors arguing through them, and sometimes the only thing standing between us and hunger was the kindness of Mrs. Jenkins from next door.

She would knock gently in the evenings, a warm pot of soup in her hands. “Just made too much,” she’d say with a smile. But I saw the way Mom's eyes welled up with gratitude.

Back then, I didn’t realize she often skipped meals so Sarah and I could eat.

It wasn’t until I was older that I saw it for what it was — sacrifice. She poured every ounce of herself into raising us.

Eventually, things got a little better. Mom got a steadier job, we moved to a small but cozy home, and both Sarah and I went off to college. But even then, Sarah seemed untouched by our past.

Where I carried those lean years like a quiet scar, Sarah acted like they’d never happened.

---

Sarah was always a bit… selfish. Carefree. She drifted through college, depending on Mom’s money far more than she should have. Even after graduation, she didn't bother finding work — just bounced from one relationship to the next, always asking Mom for help when things inevitably went south.

Then came the call.

“Can you come by after work?” Mom said softly. “I need to talk to you.”

There was something in her voice — something quiet and shaky that made my stomach drop. I drove over immediately.

She was waiting in the kitchen, wrapped in a shawl, her hands resting tiredly on a warm mug of tea. I could tell she was trying to smile for me, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I went to the doctor today,” she began. “They’ve found something. It’s my heart.”

My own heart stopped.

“They’re giving me a year. Maybe less.”

I reached across the table and gripped her hands. “We’ll get treatment. Whatever it costs, we’ll do it.”

But Mom just shook her head gently. “A year is the best-case scenario — even with treatment.”

I hugged her, my tears soaking into her cardigan. “Then I’ll be here with you. Every step.”

She stroked my hair, just like she did when I was a little girl. “I know you will. But… don’t tell Sarah yet. Let me be the one.”

---

Mom told Sarah a month later, when Sarah came by to ask for money again after another breakup. That same night, Sarah stormed into my house without knocking and dropped herself onto my couch like she owned the place.

“You need to stop visiting Mom.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“She’s sick, and you’re just trying to get in her good graces so you can take everything when she dies.”

I stared at her, stunned. “You really think that’s what this is about?”

Sarah scoffed. “She always gave me more growing up. You’re just jealous and trying to grab what you can now.”

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself,” I said. “I’m not backing off.”

“Well, you won’t get the chance,” she snapped. “I’m moving in with Mom. I’ll take care of everything. Don’t come over.”

And just like that, she left.

---

From that day on, I wasn’t allowed near Mom. Sarah came up with a new excuse every time I tried.

“She’s sleeping.”
“She doesn’t feel well.”
“She went to the doctor.”

So I started texting Mom directly. One day, she replied:

“Sarah went out. You can come now.”

I grabbed groceries on the way — her favorite tea, fresh fruit, and warm bread — and headed over. When I walked in, Mom’s face lit up.

“Why haven’t you visited?” she asked quietly. “Sarah said… you didn’t want to. That I was a burden.”

My stomach turned. “She said that? Mom, no. I’ve been trying. She’s the one who wouldn’t let me.”

Mom just nodded slowly.

“Is Sarah helping at all?” I asked.

“She’s here. She cooks, cleans… she’s different now,” Mom said, almost like she was trying to convince herself.

But when I offered to help cover the cost of her medication, her voice faltered.

“Sarah spends a lot. I’m worried there won’t be enough left.”

---

I went straight to the hospital the next day. Found Dr. Patel — Mom’s physician — and told him firmly: “Send every bill to me from now on.”

“Wasn’t your sister handling that?” he asked.

“She was using Mom’s money. I’ll take care of it now.”

He nodded. “Your mom always spoke highly of you.”

---

As the months passed, Mom grew weaker. She was eventually hospitalized, and for the first time in months, I could visit without Sarah blocking me. I was there every evening, reading aloud, brushing her hair, holding her hand.

Sarah showed up often too — hovering, watching, acting the part of the dutiful daughter. But it always felt like she was playing a role.

One night, she pulled me aside.

“Mom’s money is almost gone,” she said. “I can’t cover groceries, utilities—”

“I’m paying all the medical bills,” I cut in. “If the money’s gone, it’s because you spent it.”

“I have to live too,” she murmured, avoiding my eyes.

I turned away. “I’m not here to fund your lifestyle.”

---

Days later, the call came.

Mom had passed.

I rushed to the hospital, my grief raw and choking. When I arrived, Sarah and her lawyer were already there.

“She left everything to me,” Sarah said flatly, holding out a copy of a will.

“You’re already thinking about money?” I hissed.

“I just don’t want there to be conflict.”

I walked away before I said something I’d regret.

---

That’s when Dr. Patel called me into his office.

“She left this for you,” he said, handing me an envelope.

I stepped into the hallway and opened it with trembling hands.

Inside was a more recent will — one that named me as the sole beneficiary. And with it, a short handwritten note:

Nicole, I told you I understand everything. I see real love — and I see selfishness, too. That’s why I’m leaving everything to you. Keep that beautiful heart of yours open. I love you. — Mom

Tears spilled down my cheeks. Even in death, Mom had protected me.

I looked up at the sky through the hospital window, whispering, “Thank you, Mom. I promise I’ll live like you did — with kindness, with courage, and with love.”