About a year ago, the doctor called me to inform me that Mom had stage four cancer. I had just gotten married, but I didn’t hesitate. I cancelled our honeymoon, drained my savings, and essentially moved into that cold hospital room with her.

I gave her ice chips when she couldn’t swallow water, held her hand during her night terrors, and stayed up just listening to her breathing to make sure she was still there. Every single day, I was by her side.

Meanwhile, my sister, Lila, never called. Not once. Not since she stormed out seven years ago after a huge fight about Dad’s will. She claimed that Mom had manipulated it and said she couldn’t forgive her.

Mom didn’t make it; cancer won after three months. I was heartbroken and still in pain when the lawyer called us in to read Mom’s will. That’s when I saw Lila for the first time in years.

As the lawyer read the will, my stomach dropped. Everything went to Lila: the house, the accounts, the jewelry. My name? Not even mentioned.

Lila looked “shocked,” or at least she pretended to be. I wanted to scream, to ask how she had come back, and what she had said or done to secure this.

But I just sat there, numb. Had Mom secretly forgiven her? Or was this some bizarre way to punish me for… what exactly?

What I felt wasn’t just sadness; it was anger—bitter, sharp, and unfair. I had given everything for months, and apparently, it meant nothing.

Even after all this time, I can’t stop wondering: Am I overreacting? Or is it normal to feel blindsided and betrayed?

Source: brightside.me