My parents told me «You’re adopted, you get nothing when we die.» Then grandma’s lawyer called: «She left you $2 million… and a letter about your parents’ lies.» I drove to their house with a smile…

I threatened to take them to court for custody. I told them I would expose what they were trying to do to the whole family, the whole community. They kept you, but only because I forced their hand.

Susan has resented you ever since. She’s the one who told you that you were adopted, who convinced David to treat you differently from Logan and Ashley. Every cruel word, every time they excluded you, every time they made you feel like you didn’t belong.

That was Susan’s doing and David’s cowardice in going along with it. I tried to maintain a relationship with you, but Susan made it increasingly difficult. She would cancel visits, refuse to let you answer my calls, and eventually they move you all across the state specifically to keep you away from me.

The last time I saw you, you were 15 years old. I’ve missed six years of your life because of their selfishness. I’m leaving you everything, Austin, not just because you’re my grandson, but because you’re the only one in this family who has faced hardship with dignity.

I know about the community college, the jobs, the apartment you can barely afford. I know because I hired a private investigator to keep track of you when your parents wouldn’t let me see you. I also know that David and Susan have been telling people that my estate will be divided equally among all the grandchildren.

They’ve been spending money they don’t have, expecting a big inheritance. They’re going to be very surprised. I hope this money gives you the freedom to build the life you deserve.

But more than that, I hope this letter gives you the truth you’ve always deserved to know. You are loved. You are wanted.

You always have been. All my love, Grandma Eleanor. P.S. The house keys are in the safe deposit box.

I hope you’ll consider living there. It’s been waiting for you. I read the letter three times before the words really sank in.

Not adopted, my mother, my real mother, had died when I was two. Susan wasn’t my mother at all, just a woman who had married my father and spent the next 19 years making me feel like an unwanted burden. The private investigator she mentioned, Margaret said gently, he documented quite a bit about your living situation.

Your grandmother was very concerned about how you were being treated. She handed me another folder. Inside were photographs and reports spanning several years.

Pictures of me walking to work, living in my tiny studio apartment, eating ramen noodles for dinner. My grandmother had been watching over me from afar, caring about me when my own father couldn’t be bothered. What did my parents think they were inheriting? I asked…