Taken from real life. “My brother took all my parents' inheritance”: I have nothing left

My parents passed away suddenly, one by one.

I sat in my empty family home, listening to the echo of my own footsteps.

This house used to be full of warmth. It smelled of Mom's freshly baked bread, resounded with Dad's laughter, conversations at the table, the sounds of shared holidays.

Now it was empty.

Just like me.

My parents had left suddenly, one by one. My mother got sick first, my father couldn't live without her and gave up a moment later.

I didn't even have time to mourn properly, because right after the funeral my brother, Tomasz, called me with a short message:

— We need to talk about the inheritance.

I didn't suspect anything bad at the time. We were a family, weren't we? Siblings should support each other.

But that was the first time I saw that in his eyes I was just an obstacle.

We met at the law office.

Tomasz sat confident, content. Next to him was his wife – silent, but with the same expression on her face. As if she already knew that I came here for nothing.

— It's simple – he said. — My parents left everything to me.

I felt my heart stop.

— What?

— The house, the land, the savings. It's all on me.

I couldn't breathe.

— It's impossible. Mom and Dad loved us both.

He shrugged.

— Maybe they thought you didn't need anything.

I felt my hands shaking.

I remembered all the years I'd been the one taking care of them. When I'd visited my mother in the hospital, when I'd sat with my father as he lost more and more of his memory.

And Tomasz?

He was busy. He didn't have time.

And now he had everything.

I tried to fight.

I tried to find a will that would confirm that my parents wanted us to divide everything equally.

But he already had a lawyer.

— He didn't even try — he threw it away when I tried to make conversation. — You have nothing to say.

I realized that I had lost.

That evening, I walked through my childhood home for the last time.

I touched the wooden door frame where my father would mark our heights when we were children.

I looked into the kitchen, where my mother would spend hours cooking our favorite meals.

I went to the shelf where our family photos still stood.

It was all mine, just like his.

But now only he had it.

And I had nothing left.

Not even a brother.

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