My sister-in-law always felt entitled to whatever she wanted, but nothing prepared me for her most outrageous demand yet—she wanted me to have a baby just so she could keep it as a gift. When she refused to take no for an answer, I decided to teach her a lesson she would never forget.
Do you think you have crazy relatives? Well, let me tell you about mine, and you might change your mind.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Harry and I had been married for seven years, together for nearly fifteen, and we had two wonderful children, Maya and Luke.
Our little family was everything to me but when it came to our extended family, things weren’t as simple.
I realized something was off with my MIL, Charlotte, and my SIL, Candice, the very first day I met them.
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I told myself it was just nerves, that I was overthinking it. I had no idea then just how much trouble they would bring into my life.
Before our wedding, Candice proved just how self-centered she was. She threw a full-blown tantrum because I had the audacity to choose someone else as my maid of honor.
Worse yet, she claimed my dress was prettier than hers. As if my wedding was supposed to revolve around her!
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She nearly ruined the entire day, but thankfully, Grace, Harry’s grandmother, stepped in.
Grace was the only truly kind soul in that family, aside from my husband. Unfortunately, she lived too far away to rescue us often.
But just before Candice’s thirtieth birthday, something happened that made me question reality itself.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Candice rarely visited us, and when she did, she kept her distance from the kids, always complaining that they were “too noisy” or “gave her headaches.”
But that day was different. She spent hours playing with Maya, and something about it sent a shiver down my spine. As it turned out, I had every reason to be worried.
During dinner, Candice kept glancing at me and Harry. I knew she wanted attention. I just didn’t know why.
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“I have an announcement!” Her voice rang through the dining room. “I’m going to be a mom!” she blurted out.
Harry choked on his food. He coughed and grabbed his water. I froze with my fork halfway to my mouth.
“What?” I asked.
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Harry wiped his mouth. “Who… is the father?” His brows furrowed. “You’re not even dating anyone.”
He was right. The last boyfriend, she had run off after she screamed at him for not buying her an expensive handbag.
Candice waved a hand. “That’s actually why I came over today.” She straightened in her chair. “The parents of my daughter will be you two.”
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My stomach twisted. “What?!”
She sighed like I was the crazy one. “I’m almost thirty, and I don’t have a husband.” She smiled. “The perfect birthday gift would be a daughter.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. My brain struggled to process her words.
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Harry rubbed his temples. “You want Stephanie to be your surrogate?”
Candice shook her head. “No, I want you two to have a baby for me.”
I placed my hands on the table. “So, it would be our child, and you expect us to give it to you?”
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“Not just give—give it to me for my birthday. What’s the problem?” Her tone was light, casual, like she was asking for a sweater.
I stared at her. “You seriously don’t see a problem?” My voice rose. “Harry and I aren’t having any more children. I am not having a baby just to hand it over to you.”
Candice scoffed. “Stephanie, you’ve always been so selfish.”
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Harry’s chair scraped against the floor as he sat up. “No, Candice. Stephanie is right. We’re not doing this.”
“But why? You already have two! What’s the big deal about having one more?” Her voice hit a high-pitched whine.
I clenched my fists. “I am not an incubator! A child is not an object! A child is a person!”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“You just don’t want me to be happy! You want to be the only one with kids!” Candice shrieked.
Harry slammed his hand on the table. “Enough! Leave. Now.”
Candice’s face burned red. She stood, shaking with anger. “I’ll tell Mom about this!” She stomped to the door, threw it open, and slammed it behind her.
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I exhaled. “How did she even come up with this?”
Harry shook his head. “She’s completely lost it.”
Candice stayed quiet for a while. I hoped that meant she’d finally let it go. I should have known better.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
One afternoon, Candice showed up at our house with Charlotte by her side.
Candice’s arms overflowed with shopping bags from baby stores. My first thought was she had decided to be a good aunt and bring gifts for Maya and Luke. But the smug look on her face told me otherwise.
Charlotte walked in without waiting for an invitation. She sat on the couch and gestured for Harry and me to join her. Candice stood nearby, grinning.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Candice told me that you agreed to give her a baby,” Charlotte said.
“What? No, we told her we weren’t going to do that,” I said.
“Why not?” Charlotte asked.
“Because it’s insane,” Harry replied.
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“Is it really that hard? Stephanie, as a woman, you should know that the older you get, the harder it is to have children. Candice is already almost thirty,” Charlotte argued.
“I’m not going to give my child to your daughter, who has no idea what it means to be a parent,” I said firmly.
“That’s not true! I already bought everything!” Candice announced, pulling out baby clothes and dresses from her bags.
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“You do realize that a baby is not a doll you can just dress up, right? Babies cry, scream, spit up, and do a lot of unpleasant things,” Harry pointed out.
“My daughter won’t be like that. She’ll be like your Maya—I’ve never seen Maya cry,” Candice said confidently.
“That’s because you’ve never spent enough time with her,” I countered.
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“Then I’ll just bring my daughter to you when she cries,” Candice said.
“Babies cry day and night. Are you planning to bring her to me every single time?” I asked.
“Yes. What’s the problem with that?” Candice asked, genuinely confused.
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Harry buried his face in his hands.“This is impossible. Candice, you are not ready to be a mother. And asking someone to have a child for you is completely insane,” he said.
“But you’re my brother!” Candice cried.
While they argued, I noticed Charlotte had disappeared. I went looking for her and found her in our bedroom—poking holes in our condoms.
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“What are you doing?!” I shouted.
“Making everyone’s life easier,” she said calmly.
“Have you lost your mind?!” I screamed.
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“Listen, it wouldn’t be hard for you to have another baby, but it is hard for Candice. So I just decided to help a little,” she said.
“Help?!” I yelled. “You’re interfering in our personal lives!”
“Not everyone is as lucky as you, having a husband like my son. You should understand that,” Charlotte replied.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“You’re treating me and your son like an incubator! Why can’t Candice just go to a sperm donor?!” I snapped.
“Donors are just random people. But you and Harry already have two healthy children, so Candice would know for sure that her baby would be fine,” Charlotte said.
“That would be our child! Ours!” I shouted.
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“But you’d be having it for Candice, so it would be her child,” Charlotte argued.
“Do you really think I would give my child to someone who believes you can choose a baby’s gender? Or that babies don’t cry?” I asked.
“I will help her,” Charlotte said.
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“That makes…” that makes the situation even worse, I wanted to say, but I stopped myself.
An idea formed in my mind—a way to teach both Candice and Charlotte a lesson and show everyone just how insane they were.
“You know what? If you’re going to help, then I agree,” I said.
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Charlotte beamed. “Finally! Why didn’t you just say so earlier?” she said, then went to tell Candice the “good news.”
As soon as they left, Harry turned to me in shock. “You actually agreed to this?” he asked.
“I have a plan,” I said.
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For the next nine months leading up to Candice’s birthday, I played my role well.
I smiled, touched my belly often, and acted like the happiest pregnant woman.
Every time Candice called, I assured her everything was going smoothly. I even let her ramble about nursery themes and baby names.
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It was exhausting. Keeping up the act drained me, but I had to see this through.
When the time came, I announced I would give birth in another city. Candice pouted but accepted my reasoning—I told her the “gift” had to remain a surprise until her birthday. After all, it was a present, right?
On the big day, the whole family gathered for the reveal. Even Grace had traveled to be there.
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Candice had told everyone about her “grand surprise,” building the moment up as if she had won the lottery.
Harry and I walked in when everyone was seated. I held a baby carrier, wrapped with a giant bow, cradling it carefully. Candice gasped, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Let me see her!” she squealed, trying to peek inside.
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“Not yet,” I said. “Wait for the big moment.”
Finally, Candice stood, practically glowing with excitement. “I have a very special announcement!” she declared. “Harry and Stephanie have given me the most incredible birthday gift—a baby!” Gasps filled the room. Eyes locked on us.
Candice turned, arms outstretched. “Okay, hand her over now!” I smiled and placed the carrier in her hands.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Candice tore off the bow. She reached inside the carrier with trembling hands. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. Then her face twisted in horror.
“WHAT IS THIS?!” she shrieked, pulling out a doll.
The room fell silent. All eyes were on her. Harry and I burst into laughter.
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“The only baby you’re fit to take care of,” I said, smirking.
Candice’s chest rose and fell fast. Her fingers dug into the doll’s plastic limbs. She looked at me with pure rage.
“But you were pregnant!” she screamed. “I saw your belly!”
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“Fake bellies,” I said, shrugging. “I went out of town to ‘give birth’ just to sell the illusion.”
Candice let out a sharp sob. Charlotte gasped and shot up from her seat.
“You heartless witch!” Charlotte yelled.
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“And who exactly is heartless?” I snapped. “The people who refused to give away their child? Or the ones who expected a baby like it was a wrapped-up gift?”
Candice clutched the doll to her chest. Tears streamed down her face.
“But… but I already bought so many dresses!” she whined. “Who am I supposed to dress up now?”
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“The doll works perfectly,” Harry said, still chuckling.
Candice’s hands trembled as she looked down at the toy. Her whole body shook.
Then I noticed Grace watching carefully. Her wrinkled hands rested in her lap. Her sharp eyes flicked between Candice and Charlotte.
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“Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?” she asked, her voice firm.
I turned to her. “Candice came to us a year ago demanding that we give her a baby for her birthday.”
Grace’s face twisted in confusion. “You mean… as a surrogate? Does she have health issues?”
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“No,” Harry said. “Our baby.”
Grace’s frown deepened.
“Candice is perfectly healthy,” I added. “She just doesn’t have a husband and thought we should give her a child.”
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Grace’s face turned red with fury. She pushed herself up from her seat and pointed a shaking finger at Candice and Charlotte.
“ARE YOU BOTH OUT OF YOUR MINDS?!” she roared.
Candice flinched. “W-what? What’s so wrong with it?” she stammered.
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“You’re just like your mother, Candice! I warned my son not to marry you, Charlotte, but he didn’t listen! And this is the result!” Grace spat.
“Grandma, how could you say that?!” Candice cried.
“I’m saying the truth!” Grace snapped. She took another deep breath, then fixed them both with a look of disgust.
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“I am writing you both out of my will.”
The room fell silent. Grace’s estate was worth a lot. Everyone knew it. Candice and Charlotte froze in shock.
“You’re serious?” Charlotte whispered, her voice unsteady.
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“Absolutely,” Grace said coldly. “I will not let insane people like you have any control over my wealth.”
A deep, satisfied sense of justice filled me. I watched as realization dawned on them.
“But—” Candice started.
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Grace held up a hand. “Enough. We’re leaving. I want to see my great-grandchildren—the real ones.” She turned to Harry and me. “Let’s go.”
Harry and I didn’t hesitate. We stood up and walked out, hand in hand. Behind us, Candice sobbed hysterically.
Charlotte shouted in frustration. But we didn’t care. They got exactly what they deserved.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: I thought my mother-in-law was just overbearing. But when she stole the spotlight at our gender reveal, I realized she would do anything to stay at the center of our lives. I wanted space. She refused to give it. Then I discovered her biggest secret—and regret hit her harder than she imagined.
My Grandma Served Her Church for 50 Years Until They Gave Her Nothing When She Needed Them—Her Will Contained the Perfect Payback
When Eleanor is abandoned by the church she served for nearly 50 years, her silence speaks louder than any sermon. As her granddaughter watches heartbreak turn into clarity, one final act of truth is set in motion. This is an unforgettable story of legacy, faith, and the quiet power of not being forgotten.
The day of my grandmother’s funeral was sunny. No thunderclaps, no storm clouds. Just warmth. The kind she always carried with her.
Her name was Eleanor and she served her church for nearly five decades without ever asking for anything. Until she needed them. And they gave her nothing.
A funeral altar | Source: Midjourney
Not one church leader came. Not by mistake but by design. They were not invited.
It wasn’t always like this, though. My grandmother was a pillar in that church. A Southern Baptist congregation that prided itself on “family values,” tradition, and photo ops of the pastors shaking hands with senators.
She was the kind of woman who showed up without being asked, who filled in for the sick nursery worker, cooked extra casseroles, and stayed late to wipe down folding tables.
Casseroles of food on a table | Source: Midjourney
She taught Youth Bible Study every Sunday night, helped plan fellowship dinners, drove the church van to retreats and choir tours. She tithed faithfully and gave extra Home Missions. She even funded scholarships for church kids who couldn’t afford to go on mission trips.
Nobody asked her to, she just did it.
She was faithful. She was humble. She was invisible, in the way that older women who do all the work and none of the talking often are.
A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney
Her greatest gift wasn’t her service, it was how she made people feel. You never left Eleanor’s kitchen or classroom without feeling taller. She saw you. That was her superpower.
I was seven the first time I stayed at Grandma Eleanor’s house by myself. Grandpa Walter was away on a fishing trip. So, it was just me and her. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, scared by a dream I couldn’t remember, and padding down the hallway in my socks.
I didn’t even have to knock, she was already opening the door.
A little girl standing in a hallway | Source: Midjourney
She let me crawl into her bed without a word. Her sheets smelled like lavender and old books. She hummed a hymn I didn’t know the words to, but the melody stuck with me for years. Her hand rubbed soft circles on my back until my breath slowed.
That was her magic. She didn’t always know what to say. But she knew what you needed.
When I had my first heartbreak at 16, she was the only one I wanted to talk to. She didn’t give advice. She didn’t offer clichés. She just poured sweet tea into glass jars and sat with me on the porch.
Two glass jars of sweet tea | Source: Midjourney
At one point, she reached over, tapped my knee, and said, “If someone makes you feel small, they don’t belong near the big, beautiful things inside you.”
I cried harder after that, not because I was sad but because she saw me. She always had.
She taught me how to pray, how to iron a blouse properly, and how to take the high road without letting people walk all over me. She had this quiet strength that felt like standing next to a mountain.
An upset teenage girl sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
No flash. No noise. Just steady, solid presence.
She was more than my grandmother. She was the compass I measured the world against.
And when she was abandoned, when they made her feel small, I promised myself I wouldn’t let that be the last chapter in her story.
An upset older woman | Source: Midjourney
My grandmother was 73 when everything changed. She was in a car accident that left her disabled. Her legs never fully recovered. Her bones ached constantly. The woman who used to garden before sunrise now struggled to climb the porch steps without her cane.
So, she wrote letters. She called. She asked the congregation for rides, prayer, and even visits.
They didn’t come. Not even one of them.
A car accident scene | Source: Midjourney
Not Pastor J., the man who baptized her grandkids and gave her the plaque for “Most Years of Service.”
Not Pastor M., the younger one who took over youth ministry and once proudly announced to the congregation that “Miss Eleanor’s potato salad could save souls.”
For ten years, she stayed home. She listened to sermons online.
A bowl of potato salad | Source: Midjourney
“Come home, Callie,” she told me one day on the phone. “Let’s listen to sermons together, baby. Let’s pray together. And when we’re done, we can have some fresh scones and jam. I’ve been teaching Grandpa how to bake.”
I used to do exactly what she wanted. She was my favorite person in the entire world, I would have done anything she asked.
Gran mailed in her tithe. She still sent cute birthday cards and batches of cupcakes to the church kids she used to teach.
A plate of scones and jam on a kitchen table | Source: Midjourney
And still, they never came.
I was 16 when I first realized what was happening. I visited Grandma every Sunday after church, still wearing my dress and heels, sometimes bringing her slices of lemon cake from the bakery she liked.
Every time, without fail, she’d ask the same thing.
“Did you see Pastor J., my Callie? Did he say anything about me?”
At first, I lied. Not big lies, just small, soft ones that would land easy on her heart.
Slices of lemon cake in a bakery | Source: Midjourney
“He says he’s praying for you,” I’d nod. “He asked how you were doing. He said he misses your cornbread, Gran.”
It made her smile. That kind of hopeful, aching smile people wear when they know something isn’t true but need to believe it anyway. I hated how easily she accepted the scraps of comfort I gave her.
But one day, I couldn’t do it anymore.
She asked me the question again as she added a spoon of sugar to her tea. She was all hopeful eyes and soft cardigan sleeves.
Pieces of cornbread on a wooden board | Source: Midjourney
This time I wasn’t going to lie.
“Gran… they don’t talk about you anymore. I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean, Callie?” she asked.
“I mean… they don’t ask about you.”
She didn’t flinch. She just nodded once. Like she already knew. Like her heart had already made peace with being forgotten. But I could see it in the way her hand stopped mid-stir in her tea.
A cup of milky tea on a side table | Source: Midjourney
She didn’t drink it that day.
And she never brought them up again.
The final blow came when she was dying.
She was in hospice, frail and shrinking into herself. Her skin was papery against the white sheets. Machines beeped softly in the background like a countdown. Her breath rattled in her chest. Still, she asked for Pastor J.
An older woman laying in a bed | Source: Midjourney
“Just to talk, Callie,” she said, sighing. “Just once more. I want to go over the services. The hymn that will be sung. That verse in Isaiah, the one about wings like eagles.”
I nodded and told her that I’d pass the message along. But he never came.
Instead, Pastor M. showed up. With his too-white teeth and shiny shoes. He smiled too much. He walked fast and talked even faster, like he was on a timer.
A pensive young woman | Source: Midjourney
He stayed exactly 15 minutes and spent 12 of them circling the same question.
“Have you remembered the church in your will, Eleanor?”
My jaw almost touched the ground.
“I know you’ve always had a generous heart, Eleanor,” he said, placing a hand on hers like he owned it. “And the Lord sees your faithfulness. A bequest could mean a new roof. A scholarship. A real legacy.”
A close up of a man wearing glasses | Source: Midjourney
He didn’t ask if she was afraid. He didn’t ask what she needed. He didn’t ask which hymns spoke to her soul. Instead, cold and calculated, he asked about money.
My grandfather stood in the corner of the hospice room, fists clenched so tight, his knuckles turned white. His jaw moved, like he was chewing the words back down.
“She’s not gone yet,” he said. “And this isn’t the time.”
A close up of an older man | Source: Midjourney
Pastor M. smiled wider, like he was used to swallowing shame and calling it grace.
“Just planting seeds, Brother Walter. Planting seeds for something beautiful to grow…” he said, patting the air like he was blessing us.
He left with the same smug calm he walked in with. Clipboard tucked under his arm. Collared shirt crisp. Not one word about heaven. Not one word about Gran’s life.
A clipboard on a side table | Source: Midjourney
After the door clicked shut, silence filled the room like smoke. Then Gran cried.
I hadn’t seen her cry in years. Not after the accident. Not when she lost friends or strength or dignity. But this? This cut something deeper.
“He didn’t ask me about my soul,” she whispered. “He just asked me about my money.”
My grandfather sat beside her then. He didn’t say much. He just held her hand, the way he always did when words weren’t enough.
A crying old woman | Source: Midjourney
I remember sitting there, watching the two of them, feeling the grief shift inside me. Not just for what we were losing but for how little she got back after giving so much.
That day, something broke. But not in a bitter way. It was clarity.
In the six months that followed, Gran planned. Quietly, steadily. With every ounce of intention she’d once poured into youth retreats and Bible study lessons, she rewrote the final chapter of her story.
A side view of a young woman | Source: Midjourney
And when she passed, we honored her the way she would’ve wanted. Without hypocrisy. The service was held in a modest funeral home, not the church. Just soft music, folding chairs, and people who showed up.
My grandfather made that call.
“They don’t get to grieve her in public when they ignored her in private,” he said.
He stood at the front of the room that day. Gran’s worn leather Bible pressed to his chest like a shield. His voice didn’t shake. He wasn’t angry, just honest.
An old Bible and a vase of flowers | Source: Midjourney
“The church she gave her life to gave her nothing in return. They abandoned our Eleanor. And when she was dying, they came to ask for her money, not her forgiveness, not her blessing. Just her estate.”
We sang “It Is Well with My Soul,” the same hymn that my grandmother used to hum while kneading dough in her kitchen. We passed the mic and people stood up to share stories. About Gran’s cornbread, her Sunday hugs, the time she drove a van full of rowdy teens to the next state and kept her cool with nothing but peppermint oil and a firm voice.
She was remembered, not for her giving, but for who she gave herself to.
A bottle of peppermint essential oil | Source: Midjourney
Two weeks later, we gathered for the reading of the will. Denise, Gran’s lawyer, had been in her Bible study group years ago. She wore soft blue that day and smiled gently at all of us before opening the folder in her lap.
I was surprised to see the Pastors walk in, dressed to the nines, looking around the room like they owned it.
“I heard she left something to the church,” Pastor M. said to no one in particular. He smirked like he already knew he was getting a windfall.
A lawyer wearing a blue pantsuit | Source: Midjourney
The will began.
To Grandpa, her husband of 54 years, Gran left her portion of the house and their joint savings, and a letter about the first time they danced barefoot in the kitchen.
“You gave me the strength to give to everyone else,” she wrote. “Now, I give it all back to you, my love.”
A smiling old man | Source: Midjourney
To me, she left her recipe book, her first Bible with the pages worn soft from love, and a bracelet she said she bought when I was born because the stone reminded her of my eyes.
“My Callie girl, you’re the light of every room. You’ve been one of the brightest lights in my life, sweetheart.”
To the others, she left quilts she had sewn herself, heirlooms tucked into labeled boxes, small accounts for the kids’ college funds, and handwritten notes folded like prayers.
A pensive young woman | Source: Midjourney
Then Denise paused. She looked directly at the two pastors and cleared her throat.
“This next portion is directed toward the Pastors. It is a personal statement from Eleanor.”
Denise unfolded a second piece of paper and began to read.
“To the pastors of the church I once called home:
A letter on a desk | Source: Midjourney
I loved you. I served the Lord alongside you. I gave you decades of my life. But in my final years, when I could no longer bring you food or money, I became invisible to you. I waited for calls that never came. I invited you in, and you stayed away.
You left me alone. Until it was time to collect. And then, all you wanted was what I could give you. Not my stories. Not my fears. Not my prayers. Just my assets.
An older woman standing outside a church | Source: Midjourney
I once planned to leave 20% of my estate to the church. I believed in the mission. I believed in you.
Pastor J., you ignored me.
Pastor M., you reduced me to a transaction.
For that, you each receive one cent.
My final donation has gone instead to Reverend Lila Hayes. She brought me meals. She prayed with me. She sat with Walter and Callie and my children. She was at the hands and feet of the Lord when you were just the mouth. You broke my heart. But I won’t let you profit from it.”
A smiling woman in a navy dress | Source: Midjourney
“This is unnecessary,” Pastor J. muttered. “Cruel.”
“No,” my grandfather said, rising beside me. “What you did was cruel. This is just truth. And it’s long overdue.”
They left without another word.
The money that my grandmother donated was enough to fund a year of the church’s charity pantry, legal aid for foster families, and new books for their children’s literacy program.
A stack of children’s books | Source: Midjourney
“Your grandmother was a light. Thank you for letting her shine one more time.”
And that was my grandmother, Eleanor.
“Hopefully those fools have learned their lesson, Callie,” Grandpa Walter said. “It’s in the Lord’s hands now.”
A smiling older woman standing outside a church | Source: Midjourney
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
For eight years, Clover has kept Sanctum Noctis hidden, a secret safe house for children with nowhere else to go. But when one of them makes a mistake, she’s forced into a deadly game with Michael… the man she once escaped. This time, she’s not running. This time, she fights.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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