My grandmother passed away, and all she left me in her will was an old sofa. My father was very angry, saying, “She took all her wealth to the grave! You’re her only grandchild!” But I respected her will.
Grandma often read me fairy tales on this sofa, and I listened, fascinated, with a cup of tea. I loved spending time with her, and she understood me like no one else…
Influenced by childhood memories, I sat down on the sofa but instantly felt that something was wrong — a hard, sharp object was poking me in the back!
At my own risk, I cut open the sofa and found a green metal box. Inside were many papers and a letter addressed to me! I carefully opened it, and my heart stopped.
Inside the envelope was a handwritten letter in my grandmother’s familiar, gentle script. It read:
“My dearest love,
If you are reading this, then you’ve already found the secret I tucked away in the place that held our dearest memories. I never cared for banks or safes—I always believed true treasures should be hidden where love lived.These papers you found are not just documents—they are your future. Among them are the deeds to a small cottage in the countryside where I grew up, stocks I quietly invested in over the years, and letters from your grandfather I never had the heart to part with.
I know the world can be unkind, and money often makes people see only what’s missing. But you, my sweet child, always saw what was present. You saw me—not as a burden, not as an old woman—but as someone who still had stories to tell.
This is my final story to you. Use what I’ve left not just to live, but to dream. Travel. Write your own fairy tales. Fill your home with music and laughter. And always remember: you were, and always will be, the greatest treasure of my life.
With all my love,
Grandma.”
Tears streamed down my face as I gently unfolded each document. I wasn’t just holding financial security—I was holding her legacy, her voice, her love. My father entered the room, still fuming, but when he saw the open letter in my hands, something in him softened.
We sat there, side by side, on that old sofa—now torn but more valuable than gold—and for the first time in years, we shared a quiet moment of peace.