My name is Margaret. I’m 63 now. When I first met my late husband, I was 38. He had three children from his previous marriage — 10, 12, and 14 years old at the time. We were married for just over a year when he passed unexpectedly.I could have walked away. Nobody would’ve blamed me. But I stayed. I raised his kids as my own.Paid for their school, their braces, their camps. Cheered at their graduations. Helped them with their first cars, their first homes. I never had children of my own — they were my entire world.I never expected anything in return, I didn’t raise them to owe me something. But I also didn’t expect their nasty attitude in the times that were the darkest for me.”

The woman confessed, “Fast forward 25 years. My health took a bad turn. The doctors found a heart condition that would eventually take me out without surgery. My kids barely visited.But then, everything changed for a while, when I first spoke about the inheritance. That’s when my stepchildren suddenly became very… attentive. Calls, visits, little gifts. At first, I thought it was sweet.Until one evening, I overheard a conversation I wasn’t supposed to hear. They were sitting in my living room, laughing, casually discussing my ‘final arrangements.’ They had already picked out my cemetery plot and headstone.Worse — they were openly negotiating who would get which piece of my estate. My jewelry, my house, my savings. Like vultures circling.”