At 15, I spent that summer by Grandma’s side while the rest of the family rolled their eyes and waited for her to pass. Then came the shocking news: Grandma had suddenly lost her hearing. At her 89th birthday, everyone played nice until I overheard my Uncle Bill whispering that he’d “fight for the house in court” and Aunt Sarah laughing about Grandma being “too old and stupid to care.”

I was furious, heartbroken but Grandma? She smiled. That’s when she revealed the truth: she could still hear, just not perfectly. And she had a plan. With my help, she recorded every cruel thing her children said behind her back. A week later, Grandma passed away peacefully in her sleep.

At the will reading, each greedy relative received a box with recordings of their own vile words. One by one, their voices echoed through the room: wishing her dead, mocking her age, planning how to split her estate. They were speechless. And me? I received a letter:

“You loved me for me, not for what I had. That’s why I’m leaving it all to you. Always remember, love is the greatest inheritance.” I cried, not for the money, but for the loss of someone who had taught me everything — including how to see through people. Grandma may be gone, but her lesson lives on.