I was driving to the abortion clinic because of poverty and debts, but turned back for my ID. In the mailbox was a letter: my childless aunt, whom I hadn’t seen in 20 years, left me her entire inheritance, but with one STRANGE condition…

Give this child the chance I never had. And if it’s a girl, I’d be over the moon if you named her after me, Matilda, in my memory. Let at least one little Matilda in this world be happy.

Hugs, your great-aunt. I finished the letter and leaned my head against the cold, peeling hallway wall. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but these weren’t tears of despair and hopelessness like an hour ago in the car.

This was something else—a mix of shock, grief for a stranger who turned out to be family, and an overwhelming, dizzying sense of freedom. As if an unbearable weight I’d carried for years was lifted from my shoulders. Debts, loans, fear of not paying rent, humiliating work for pennies.

All that suddenly vanished, dissolved like a bad dream. I reread her handwritten lines again and again. «Save it, please.»

She knew. Somehow, this lonely old woman, shut in her city-center apartment, knew more about me than I thought. She knew my problems and my child.

And she didn’t judge, didn’t lecture; she just extended a hand from beyond. I placed my palm on my belly again. Little Matilda, my daughter.

In my memory flashed that one day I saw her. After the funeral, everyone gathered in Grandma’s small apartment. It was noisy, crowded, smelling of food and grief.

And Aunt Matilda sat in the corner, in an old chair, straight as a string, staring out the window. Seven-year-old me approached out of curiosity. She turned her head, her sad eyes examining me closely.

She didn’t smile, but her gaze warmed. Silently, she pulled from her antique purse a small, time-darkened silver spoon engraved with «M» and handed it to me. «For you,» she said in a quiet, creaky voice.

For your first tooth, even if late. Mom took it away later, saying it wasn’t right to accept gifts on such a day, and stashed it somewhere. But I remembered.

Remembered her dry, cool hand and the sense of something important, real. She’d remembered me all these years. Thought of me and in her final hour cared not for someone else, but for me and my unborn daughter.

The apartment door slammed, and Brandon appeared on the landing. He was in a good mood, whistling a tune. Seeing me on the steps with a tear-streaked face, he frowned, but his voice held no sympathy, only annoyance.

«What are you doing sitting here? I thought you’d be at the clinic by now. Something happen? Traffic?» He came closer, his gaze sliding to the envelope in my hands. «What’s that?» he asked, suspicion creeping in.

I stood silently, feeling everything inside freeze into ice. «I didn’t go,» I said quietly. «Forgot the documents.» Brandon rolled his eyes.

«Ashley, come on, we agreed, I set it all up, paid—I mean, gave you the money—what’s this childish behavior? You should’ve gone back and driven again, what were you waiting for?» His words no longer hurt. I looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. This handsome but weak man, so afraid of responsibility he’d convince me to do the worst thing in my life.

«I don’t need it anymore,» I said evenly and handed him the letter. Not the personal one, but the official notary notice. He snatched it with unconcealed irritation.

«What the…» he started and went silent. I watched his face. It was like frames changing in a movie.

First confusion, then disbelief. He squinted, rereading the first line. Then his eyes widened.

He scanned to the end, then back to the start. His mouth opened slightly. «Three-bedroom apartment, country house, all bank funds,» he whispered, disbelieving.

He looked up at me, and there was no joy for me, no sympathy for my relative’s death. His eyes burned with greed. «Is this… real?» he breathed.

I nodded silently. And then the transformation. Brandon’s face lit up with a wide, ecstatic smile.

He rushed to me, scooped me up, and spun me around the landing. «Ashley, honey, this is… this is a miracle! We’re rich! You get it, we’re rich!» He set me down and fixed his gaze on my belly. His eyes shone with mad delight.

«So you didn’t do it! You’re so smart! I’m so happy, so happy! Of course we’ll keep the baby. I’ve always dreamed of being a dad, you know. It was just circumstances.

But now… now everything’s changed. We’ll buy him the best stroller, the prettiest crib. Anything he wants!» He babbled nonstop, breathlessly painting our new luxurious life.

He was already mentally selling Aunt Matilda’s house, buying a fancy car, planning a beach vacation. And in this flood of excited words, not one mention of my feelings, not one question about how I was. I stood watching this complete stranger.

Just this morning, I’d loved him, excused his weaknesses, believed his words. Now I felt only icy emptiness. Everything fell into place with horrifying clarity…