I was day and night with her. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/a00e97/620x0/1/0/2025/02/09/tpy3t3mmguhkpgeggegqvaqjkgr2ochqkw2c48oouzku.jpg" alt = "from life taken." After years of caring for a sick mother, I learned that she rewrote all the property for my brother & quot; " styles = "background-color: rgba (136,112,131.1)" > < p > In recent years my life has been around & oacute; My mother, once a strong and independent woman, gradually lost strength, until she finally became completely dependent on me.

< p > I was day and night with her. I changed her bedding, fed her, gave her medicine, took her to doctors, endured her moods when the illness took her patience. I gave up my own life, dreams, rest, to be with her every day.

< p > A on ?

< p > m & oacute; j brother.

< p > appeared once every few months, with a bouquet of flower & oacute; in and a box of chocolates. He smiled, told how he had a lot of work, how tired, but of course he thinks about his mother. He sat down with her for a moment, took a few photos to show off his friends, then left this house with relief, this duty is a serious burden, which I carried only me.

< P >And I did not complain.

< p > I really didn't complain.

< p > because I loved my mother. Because I felt that it was necessary.

< p > until the day on which & oacute; died.

< p > I stood in a notary office, still stunned by her departure, when the lawyer read the will.

< p > — The entire property, including the house and savings, was rewritten to his son, John.

< p > I froze.

< p > — Sorry, what ? — I asked, although I heard every word perfectly.

< p > notary not even < p > — Your mother made such a decision. Wrote a will a few years ago.

< p > I looked at my brother.

< p > did not look surprised.

< p > did not look guilty.

< p > He looked at me with a slight smile, as if he had long known what would happen.

< p > — It's impossible — I whispered. & Amp; MDASH; I looked after her! I was with her!

< p > — Mom decided that it would be just like that — He threw Jan, shrugging.

< p > fair.

< p > The word echoed in my head, full of memories of sleepless nights, about moments when I was barely stood on my feet, but I had to get up because my mother needed me.

< p > and now it turned out that I was only a nurse for her.

< p > not c & oacute; rkama.

< p > not heir.

< p > only a maid.

< p > I looked at my brother for the last time and then I knew I didn't want anything.

< p > or home.

< p > or money.

< p > or memories of a woman who gave everything to someone who pretended to care about her.

Natasha Kumar

By Natasha Kumar

Natasha Kumar has been a reporter on the news desk since 2018. Before that she wrote about young adolescence and family dynamics for Styles and was the legal affairs correspondent for the Metro desk. Before joining The Times Hub, Natasha Kumar worked as a staff writer at the Village Voice and a freelancer for Newsday, The Wall Street Journal, GQ and Mirabella. To get in touch, contact me through my natasha@thetimeshub.in 1-800-268-7116