When Dawn’s father passed away, she lost everything—her home, her family, and any hope of a real relationship with her sister, who had never truly cared about her. Thrown out with nothing but her personal belongings and an old wristwatch, she thought her life had come to an end. But what she didn’t know was that her father had anticipated it all. Hidden inside his final gift was a secret that would change the outcome—and reveal who the real winner would be.
I had always known my sister, Charlotte, didn’t care much for me. But I never imagined she would throw me out onto the street just two weeks after our father’s funeral.
For as long as I could remember, it had mostly been just Dad and me. Technically, it was the three of us—Dad, Charlotte, and me—but Charlotte, at thirty-five, had never truly been a part of our family. She lived under Dad’s roof, but it was never her home. She was always away—at parties, with friends, or chasing what she liked to call “the next big thing.”
“I’m going to be great, Dawn,” she would tell me. “I’m meant for a bigger life, not some tiny existence where nobody knows my name. Maybe you’ll understand that someday.”
To her, the house was just a crash pad, a place to land when she was low on money or needed something.
I, on the other hand, was seventeen and had never lived anywhere else. I had been Dad’s shadow, trailing after him around the house, helping with repairs, and cooking dinner for us when he came home from work.
“Home-cooked meals are the best way to go, Dawn,” he always said. “No matter how tired you are, you should always make something for yourself.”
“Do noodles from a packet count?” I once asked, and I still remember the way he laughed at that.
Sometimes I wondered if Charlotte resented me. She was already eighteen when I was born—a legal adult with her own life ahead of her. Then I came along, a surprise my mother didn’t even bother sticking around for. But my father? He adored me.
“Dawn, you were the dawn of a new beginning,” he’d say. “The biggest surprise of my life, and I welcomed you with all I had.”
Maybe that was why Charlotte acted the way she did. By the time I was old enough to really notice, she was already pulling away. She never saw me as a sister—just as a nuisance tagging along. She never read me bedtime stories, played games, or even engaged much when Dad took us out for ice cream.
Still, I believed she cared enough to be there when it mattered.
I was wrong.
After Dad’s death, everything fell apart. Two weeks after the funeral, Charlotte and I sat in the lawyer’s office. She looked polished, but not sad—if anything, she seemed bored, as if this was a waste of her time. She checked her nails while we waited for the reading of the will.
I sat beside her, tense and grieving.
“The house goes to Charlotte,” the lawyer announced.
I felt my stomach clench. I didn’t plan to contest it, but I couldn’t understand why Dad would do this.
Then he turned to me. “Your father left you this.”
He handed me a small box, and I knew before opening it that it contained Dad’s old wristwatch. It was scratched and barely working, but I had seen it on his wrist for as long as I could remember.
Charlotte snorted. “Seriously? His watch? Even dead, Dad’s still playing favorites.”
I ignored her, running my fingers over the worn leather strap that still smelled faintly like him. The house and the rest of the possessions didn’t matter. I just wanted my father back.
For the next few days, we lived under the same roof without speaking much. I stuck to my routine—school, my part-time coffee shop job, home—because without it, I’d drown in grief.
Then one evening, I came home to find my belongings—guitar included—stacked by the front door. Charlotte stood in the hallway with a smug smile.
“This is it!” she announced. “Our paths split here, Dawn. I need you to leave.”
“What?” I blinked, convinced I must have misheard.
“You heard me. This house is mine—you heard the lawyer. And I’m done playing babysitter.”
I could barely breathe. “Charlotte, I have nowhere to go.”
“Not my problem!” she said brightly.
“You’re really doing this to me?” I whispered.
She smirked. “You should’ve been nicer to me growing up. Maybe then I’d feel bad.”
With shaking hands, I called our lawyer, Matthew, and told him everything. To my surprise, he laughed.
“Your father predicted this exactly. Come to my office tomorrow. I have something for you,” he said. “I’ll book you a room for the night—give me ten minutes.”
Soon I was settled into a cozy bed-and-breakfast, where the owner brought me dinner. I barely slept, wondering what Matthew had meant.
The next morning at his office, he handed me a folder.
“Your father was a smart man,” he said. “Seven years ago, he inherited nearly two million dollars from a distant relative he had cared for. He split the money equally between you and Charlotte—but with a condition: Charlotte must share the house with you. If she refuses, she gets nothing.”
My eyes widened.
“There’s more,” he added, sliding me a letter in Dad’s handwriting.
Dawn, my darling,
I know Charlotte. I know what she’ll do. But you are smarter. The money is in a safety deposit box—use it wisely, my girl. I love you more than anything.
—Dad
“I don’t know the code,” I said.
“The watch,” Matthew replied.
Sure enough, on the back were four tiny scratched numbers—the code.
Charlotte had the house—but also all the debt. And she had just kicked out the one person who could save her.
A few days later, she called me, her voice tight. “The lawyer says the house has massive debt. If it’s not paid, I lose it. You have the money, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” I said sweetly. “But we don’t exactly have a good history, do we?”
“You have to help me!” she pleaded.
“I would have, Charlotte,” I told her. “If you’d been nicer to me growing up. Maybe then I’d feel bad.”
I hung up.
Matthew helped me find a furnished studio apartment near my school and job. It wasn’t big, but it was mine.
Weeks later, I passed our old house and saw a SOLD sign out front. I felt no guilt—it hadn’t been home without Dad. And thanks to him, I was still being looked after, even from beyond.