I grew up in the shadow of my younger sister Stacy, who was the golden child in our parents’ eyes. No matter how hard I tried, I was always second best—except to my grandmother, who truly saw and loved me. After years of being ignored, I finally built a life of my own, earning a scholarship, graduating, and marrying Henry. But even that was tainted—Henry began cheating early into our marriage, though I stayed, hoping things would change. I was pregnant and wanted to believe he’d become the father our child deserved.

Then everything crumbled. My grandmother, who had always been my anchor, warned me about Henry and Stacy spending time together, but I dismissed it as paranoia. That is, until I came home early one day and caught them in my bed. Stacy’s betrayal cut deeper than I ever imagined—she flaunted her actions with cruel confidence, while Henry belittled me, accused me of cheating, and kicked me out of my own home. With nowhere else to go, I returned to the only place I still felt safe: my grandmother’s.

She welcomed me back, but soon after, her health declined rapidly. Just months before I gave birth, she passed away, never getting to meet her great-grandson. At her funeral, I was stunned to learn she left everything to me and my baby. While my family erupted in fury, I stayed quiet—grateful, heartbroken, and determined to start over. I rebuilt my life piece by piece, knowing my grandmother had given me the strength and stability to protect my child’s future.

Then, Stacy showed up at my door. Worn down and desperate, she asked for help—Henry had lost his job, their home was gone, and he was now cheating on her. She begged to stay with me, but I refused. I reminded her of her choices and stood firm. I had nothing left to give to people who only took from me. As she stormed away, I felt peace for the first time in years. My grandmother was gone, but her love still surrounded me, and I promised to make her proud.