My Selfish Sister Stayed by Mom's Side When She Fell Ill, but Everything Changed after the Doctor Shared Mom's Last Words

When Mom fell ill, my sister suddenly transformed into the picture-perfect daughter. She moved in with Mom and deliberately kept me at arm's length, constantly asserting that she had everything under control. But I knew my sister, Samantha, far too well. Her motivations were rarely selfless. Though I felt powerless to intervene, everything shifted dramatically the day the doctor entrusted me with Mom’s final, heartfelt note.

I often pondered how two siblings raised in the same nurturing environment could evolve into such contrasting individuals. It wasn't until Samantha and I reached adulthood that I truly began to grasp the complexities of our upbringing. Our mother, bless her soul, raised us single-handedly, and with each passing year, the immense weight of her sacrifices became clearer to me.

I vividly recall the cramped, chilly apartment we called home in my early years. Winter was particularly harsh; the wind seemed to whistle its way through every crack in the aging windows. Mom tirelessly juggled two jobs, her sole aim to keep a roof over our heads, yet it often felt like a battle against insurmountable odds.

Food wasn't always plentiful. The memory of our kind neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, bringing us dinner on those lean nights remains etched in my mind. She would offer a warm smile as she handed over a steaming pot of soup or a comforting plate of pasta. As a child, I didn't fully comprehend the depth of her generosity; all I knew was that my hunger pangs would subside.

However, I couldn't help but notice that Mom rarely joined us at the table. She would sit quietly, feigning a lack of appetite, but my young heart sensed the truth. She poured every ounce of her being into ensuring our well-being. As time progressed, our circumstances gradually improved. Mom secured a better-paying job, and slowly but surely, we began our ascent out of poverty.

She diligently saved enough to move us into a more comfortable house, and eventually, both Samantha and I had the opportunity to attend college. Yet, Samantha didn't seem to carry the same vivid recollections of those challenging early years. Perhaps she was too young to fully grasp the extent of Mom's struggles and quiet resilience.

Maybe that's why she developed the personality she did. How can I put it delicately? A tad self-centered and remarkably carefree. Even after completing her studies, the concept of work seemed foreign to her. She consistently turned to Mom for financial support, spending it with an abandon that suggested an endless supply.

But life took a somber turn. One ordinary day, Mom's call came, her voice carrying an unusual weight that prompted me to rush to her side.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach.

“Yes, yes, I just need to talk to you,” Mom replied, but her tone hinted at something more profound.

Her words replayed in my mind during the drive home after work. An inexplicable sense of foreboding washed over me. Mom rarely initiated calls like this. Upon arriving, I found the front door slightly ajar and walked in, calling out, “Mom?”

“I’m in the kitchen, honey,” she responded, her voice a little strained.

I found her seated at the kitchen table, a solitary cup of tea before her. Her hands rested on the tabletop, appearing unusually weary. The sparkle that usually danced in her eyes seemed dimmed. “What happened? What did you want to talk about?” I inquired, pulling up a chair.

Mom inhaled deeply, a sigh escaping her lips. “I went to the doctor today. Unfortunately, I have some rather difficult news,” she said softly, her gaze meeting mine with a palpable sadness.

My heart pounded against my ribs. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“My heart,” Mom whispered, the word hanging heavy in the air. “They’ve given me a year, at best.”

The words struck me with the force of a physical blow. “Isn’t there anything that can be done? I’ll pay whatever it takes, just tell me,” I pleaded, my voice trembling uncontrollably.

“A year is the most I’ll likely have with aggressive treatment. Without it, I might not even see two months,” Mom confessed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“No, no, this can’t be real,” I murmured, tears welling up and blurring my vision.

“But it is, my dear,” Mom said, her voice gentle yet firm. “It seems all the years of stress and relentless hard work have finally taken their toll.”

Unable to contain my emotions any longer, I moved closer and embraced her tightly. “We’ll get through this, Mom. I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way.”

“I know, my sweet girl,” Mom replied softly, stroking my hair in the familiar way she used to when I was a child seeking comfort. “Just… don’t tell Samantha anything for now, alright?”

“Why not? She’ll just keep asking you for money when you’ll need every penny for your treatment,” I argued, my brow furrowed with concern.

“She’s currently being financially supported by her new boyfriend, so we can have a little peace for the time being,” Mom explained, a hint of weariness in her voice.

I shook my head, a sense of unease settling over me. “This doesn’t feel right, Mom.”

“I’ll tell her myself when the time is right, I promise,” Mom reassured me, her hand squeezing mine.

Mom finally shared her diagnosis with Samantha about a month after our initial conversation. Samantha had arrived, as usual, seeking financial assistance after her latest relationship had ended abruptly. Following her talk with Mom, Samantha marched straight to my apartment. Without even the courtesy of a knock, she let herself in and settled onto my couch as if it were her own.

“I don’t want you visiting Mom,” Samantha declared, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

“Are you out of your mind? Mom is seriously ill, Samantha. Of course, I’m going to visit her. Someone needs to be there to help,” I retorted, incredulous at her audacity.

“Oh, I know exactly why you’re suddenly so concerned about her – you’re hoping to get your hands on her entire inheritance. Well, that’s not going to happen,” Samantha sneered, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Are you actually serious right now? I couldn’t care less about the money, Samantha. I just want to be there for Mom and help her through this,” I said, my voice rising with disbelief and a touch of anger. “Or is it that you’re incapable of imagining anyone acting without selfish motives?”

Samantha rolled her eyes dismissively. “Please. Mom always favored me, showering me with more money. And now, you see an opportunity to finally get something after she’s gone. It’s so transparent.”

“That’s an incredibly hurtful and frankly, stupid thing to say if you genuinely believe it. I will continue to visit Mom, Samantha. She needs support, whether you acknowledge it or not,” I stated firmly, my resolve hardening.

“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve already made arrangements. I’m moving in with Mom and will be taking complete care of her,” Samantha announced, a smug look spreading across her face.

“You? Since when have you become so incredibly caring? You’ve never shown genuine concern for anyone but yourself, Samantha,” I challenged, my voice laced with disbelief.

“That’s simply not true. I’ve always deeply cared for Mom, and now she needs me more than ever. So, don’t even bother trying to come over. I won’t let you in,” Samantha declared, her voice sharp and final.

She stood abruptly, grabbed her designer handbag, and left without another word or glance back. I stared at the closed door, a whirlwind of disbelief and anger churning within me.

I couldn’t fathom the depth of Samantha’s selfishness. Deep down, I knew her sudden attentiveness was driven by self-interest, nothing more. And unfortunately, she wasn’t bluffing. Samantha effectively barricaded me from Mom, always conjuring up flimsy excuses: “Mom is resting,” “Mom isn’t feeling well enough for visitors,” or “Mom has a doctor’s appointment.”

Left with no other option, I began texting Mom, discreetly asking her to let me know when Samantha would be out so I could seize the opportunity for a visit.

One afternoon, a text message from Mom finally arrived, informing me that Samantha had gone to the mall and the coast was clear. I made a quick stop at the grocery store to pick up some of Mom’s favorite things before heading straight to her house.

I found Mom lying on the living room couch, the television screen casting a soft glow on her tired face. Despite her obvious fatigue, a genuine smile flickered across her lips when she saw me.

“Not too bad, considering,” Mom said with a weak but warm smile. “I’m managing.”

“I brought you some groceries, Mom,” I said, placing the bag gently on the floor. “I got your favorite Earl Grey tea and some fresh strawberries and blueberries.”

“Oh, thank you so much, honey,” Mom replied, her voice softening, but then a shadow of seriousness crossed her features. “Nicole, why haven’t you been visiting? Samantha told me you didn’t want to because I’d become too much of a burden.”

My heart sank, a wave of disbelief and hurt washing over me. “She said what?! That’s outrageous, Mom! I haven’t been here because Samantha has been actively preventing me from seeing you. She always had some excuse ready. As soon as I had the chance, I came,” I explained, my voice filled with genuine distress.

“I see,” Mom replied quietly, her gaze thoughtful.

“How is it with Samantha? Is she actually helping you?” I asked, a sliver of hope mixed with deep skepticism in my voice.

“Yes, yes, she’s been by my side almost constantly. She cooks light meals for me, keeps the house tidy, and diligently makes sure I take my medication,” Mom said, and then added, a hint of hopeful wonder in her tone, “I truly believe this illness has changed her for the better, Nicole.”

“Yeah, right,” I muttered under my breath, unable to fully conceal my cynicism. “And do you have enough money for everything, Mom? For your medication and everything else?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation toward a more practical concern.

“For now, yes, although Samantha does seem to be spending quite a bit. I’m starting to worry if we’ll have enough to cover the ongoing medical expenses soon,” Mom confessed, her voice laced with worry.

“Don’t you fret about that for a single moment, Mom. I’ll speak with Dr. Miller and make sure all your medical bills are taken care of from now on,” I said firmly, my resolve solidifying.

“Alright, thank you, my dear,” Mom said, a tired but grateful smile gracing her lips.

I stayed with her for a precious few hours. We talked about simple, everyday things, finding comfort in the normalcy of our conversation. I didn’t want to leave her side, but Mom eventually said she was feeling increasingly tired and wanted to rest. I gently helped her back to her bedroom, supporting her frail frame.

“Nicole,” Mom said softly as she settled into bed, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ve lived a long life, and I understand far more than you might think.”

I simply nodded, unsure of the full meaning behind her words, but assuming it was the weariness speaking.

After ensuring she was comfortable, I quietly put away the groceries and slipped out of the house. But instead of heading home, an urgent need propelled me in a different direction. I drove straight to the hospital.

I knocked softly on Dr. Miller’s office door, and upon hearing a faint “Come in!” I entered.

“Hello, Dr. Miller. I’m Nicole, the daughter of your patient, Martha…”

“Oh, yes, Nicole,” Dr. Miller said warmly, recognizing my name before I could even finish mentioning Mom’s last name. “Please, have a seat. Martha spoke very highly of you.”

I sat down in the chair opposite his desk. “I wanted to discuss Mom’s ongoing treatment. From this point forward, please send all medical bills directly to me, for absolutely everything,” I stated, my voice clear and determined.

“I was under the impression that Samantha was managing all the financial aspects of her care,” Dr. Miller said, his eyebrows slightly raised in surprise.

“Yes, she is, but it’s being paid for with Mom’s savings, and I’m concerned that with Samantha’s spending habits, those funds might not last. I don’t want Mom to have any added financial worries during this difficult time,” I explained, my concern evident.

“Alright, Nicole, we can certainly arrange that,” Dr. Miller said with a reassuring nod. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

A wave of relief washed over me, knowing that I could finally provide tangible support for Mom without Samantha’s interference. However, I sensed that this was merely the first step in a more complex situation.

When the first hospital bills began to arrive, I was taken aback by the sheer magnitude of the amounts. Each invoice was significantly higher than I had anticipated. I struggled to comprehend how Mom could have possibly had enough savings to cover these expenses, especially considering Samantha’s seemingly extravagant lifestyle. A nagging question began to form in the back of my mind: where was all the money truly going? I knew Mom’s initial savings couldn’t possibly stretch this far.

With each passing month, Mom’s health continued its steady decline. Her physical strength waned, and she spent increasingly longer periods confined to her bed. Eventually, hospitalization became necessary, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I was able to visit her freely, whenever I could. Samantha couldn’t exert the same control within the hospital walls.

I dedicated every evening to being by Mom’s side. I read aloud to her, held her frail hand, and did everything within my power to ensure her comfort. Samantha, however, watched my unwavering presence with thinly veiled resentment. In a transparent attempt to regain Mom’s attention and perhaps influence her decisions, Samantha practically moved into the hospital, rarely leaving Mom’s room. But I saw through her charade; her motivations remained unchanged.

One quiet evening, Samantha approached me in the dimly lit hallway outside Mom’s room. Her expression was uncharacteristically serious.

“Can we talk for a moment?” she asked, her voice subdued.

I followed her a few steps away, crossing my arms and waiting for her to speak.

“Look, Nicole,” she began, avoiding my gaze. “Mom’s money is… well, it’s dwindling rapidly. I honestly don’t know how much longer it will last to cover everything.”

“I’ve been paying all of Mom’s medical bills directly to the hospital. How can her money possibly be running out?” I asked, my brow furrowed with confusion and a growing sense of unease.

“Well, there are… other significant expenses too, you know? Groceries, utilities for the house… And frankly, Nicole, I need money to live as well,” Samantha said, her voice softening slightly, almost as if she were attempting to evoke my sympathy or perhaps guilt.

“And that, Samantha, is precisely the core of the problem,” I stated firmly, my voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re spending Mom’s money on yourself. And I have absolutely no intention of subsidizing your lifestyle.” With that, I turned and walked back into Mom’s room, leaving Samantha standing alone in the hallway.

Just a few short days after that strained conversation, I received the call that no child ever wants to receive. My heart plummeted as I answered the phone. Mom was gone.

A wave of overwhelming devastation washed over me. My hands trembled uncontrollably as I rushed to the hospital. When I finally arrived, I found Samantha already there, accompanied by a lawyer I had never seen before.

Before I could even utter a word of greeting or express my grief, Samantha spoke, her tone cold and matter-of-fact. “Since I was the one who took care of Mom in her final months, all of the inheritance rightfully belongs to me.” Then, with a curt nod, her lawyer handed me a formal-looking document – a will.

Without even glancing at it, I shoved the document back into his hands. “Mom just passed away, Samantha! And all you can think about is money?!” I exclaimed, my voice filled with raw pain and disbelief.

“I just want to avoid any potential conflicts down the line,” she said, her tone remarkably flat and devoid of emotion.

“You are truly unbelievable,” I whispered, shaking my head in utter dismay before turning and walking away, needing a moment of solitude to process the enormity of my loss.

I went directly to Dr. Miller’s office, seeking a semblance of comfort and understanding. As soon as he saw my distraught face, his usual professional demeanor softened with genuine empathy.

“Oh, Nicole, I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. Your mother… she loved you more than words can possibly express,” he said gently, his voice filled with sincere sympathy.

“Thank you, Dr. Miller,” I replied, barely managing to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened to overwhelm me.

“Before she passed, your mother entrusted me with something very important to give to you, Nicole,” Dr. Miller said, his gaze steady and kind. He reached into his desk drawer and retrieved a sealed envelope, handing it to me with care. My breath caught in my throat as I saw Mom’s familiar handwriting on the front: “For My True Daughter.”

“Would you mind if I step outside to read this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, needing a private space to absorb whatever message Mom had left for me.

I walked out of his office and sank onto one of the chairs in the quiet hallway. My hands trembled as I held the envelope, the weight of it feeling significant. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I carefully tore it open. Inside, nestled amongst a few folded papers, was another will. With trembling fingers, I unfolded it and began to read. My heart pounded in my chest as the words swam before my eyes.

This will was dated much more recently than the one Samantha’s lawyer had presented, and it appeared to be legally sound. According to this document, Mom had made the unequivocal decision to leave her entire estate to me.

Furthermore, I discovered the existence of a separate investment account, one I had never known about. The balance listed