Edward was devastated when his sister, Sarah, called him and told him their grandmother died. He never imagined she would also plan on taking almost everything, leaving him only an old blanket…
“Grandma Sandy is dead. Are you coming to the funeral?” Sarah said coldly through the phone.
“Sarah, how can you speak so callously? Of course, I’m coming to the funeral,” Edward told his big sister. She probably asked because it was hard for Edward to move around with his disability. He was in a car accident several years ago and lost both legs.
Edward grabbed an old blanket from his grandmother’s house. | Source: Shutterstock
Since then, his family lived on his wife’s paycheck, which was not much. Gianna worked hard, but she also had to help him and mostly raise their two kids. Edward had not been able to find a proper job, but he was currently waiting for a work-from-home offer.
Sarah’s news was devastating. He loved his grandmother dearly, and unlike everyone else in the family, she tried her best to help his family after the accident. She didn’t have a lot of money but babysat the kids often.
“Well, whatever. She was old already. Anyway, I’m calling to tell you to get here fast, or I’m taking almost everything,” Sarah added.
“What do you mean? Get where?” Edward asked, confused.
Sarah was sorting and taking everything valuable. | Source: Pexels
“Her house. I’m here sorting through stuff, and I’m taking most of it now. Maybe I can get something out of it,” Sarah explained.
“You can’t do that!” Edward yelled through the phone.
“Yes, I can. She left no will, and we were her only direct relatives. Also, I’m keeping the house because you already have one. I’m being nice and telling you to come here if you want anything before I sell them,” Sarah finished and hung up.
Gianna drove Edward to his grandmother’s house, but when he got there, Sarah didn’t let him take anything. “No, I called dibs on that already,” she said when he grabbed a random vase. It didn’t matter. Owning these things would not soothe the pain of losing their grandmother.
Edward took interest in his grandmother’s old blanket instead. | Source: Pexels
“How about this?” Edward asked, grabbing an old blanket with a beautiful pattern. He remembered when he and his neighborhood friends would use it to build a fort with his grandmother’s dining room chairs.
“Oh, that old thing? Sure,” Sarah said dismissively. Edward took it and told his wife it was time to leave. He didn’t want to spend one more minute in that house, watching his sister callously sort through their grandmother’s things for her personal gain.
“I can’t believe Sarah’s attitude,” Gianna said on the car ride home.
“I know. She was never the warmest person, but this is just…disgusting. If our parents were here, they would be so disappointed,” Edward added. But they let the subject go and continued with their lives. He finally landed a job that allowed him to work from home.
Their Native American friend, Chenoa, thought the blanket could be special. | Source: Unsplash
Everything was looking up for their family after all these years of worry. Gianna also decided to hang the blanket in their room because the intricate woven pattern was beautiful. “I’m going to save up some money, and we can frame it,” she said.
He loved his wife because she could appreciate the little things like that. One day, her friend, Chenoa, visited them, and Gianna showed her the blanket. “OMG, that actually looks Navajo!” her friend said.
“You think so? I think Edward’s grandmother had it for ages. She might not have known,” Gianna added. But Chenoa was Native American. She would definitely know.
“That’s definitely a Navajo blanket, and it looks old but well-preserved. Can I take a picture? There’s a man on the reservation who can identify Navajo anywhere. I’ll text him,” Chenoa explained.
They auctioned it off for a huge amount. | Source: Unsplash
A few minutes later, the man replied and confirmed that the blanket was, in fact, authentic and appeared to be antique. Edward and Gianna invited the man over, and he explained that it could be a blanket from the 1800s.
“This is serious. You two might have stumbled upon a precious antique,” the Navajo expert told them.
So they took the blanket to an antiquarian who confirmed this too. “This could be worth between $200,000 and $500,000…maybe more,” he explained.
Upon learning this, Edward and Gianna decided to place the blanket for auction despite its big sentimental value. The fact is, life is unpredictable, and they needed the money so their kids would be safe. But they didn’t expect how the auction would turn out.
“Sold! For 1.5 million dollars!” the auctioneer yelled. Edward and Gianna looked at each other, dumbfounded. They were now millionaires.
Sarah demanded money and was arrested for trespassing. | Source: Unsplash
Their big win reached the local newspaper which wrote a story about it, and Edward’s entire family, including Sarah, found out. “I demand half that money, Edward! Or I will sue you!” Sarah screamed at him.
“You kept everything for yourself, Sarah. You don’t have a case. This is our money. Goodbye,” Edward said.
Edward was right. Sarah didn’t have a case, so she started harassing them for the money. This urged Edward to have her arrested for trying to break into their home. He also filed a restraining order against Sarah and got her to stop harassing them.
In the end, Edward’s family thrived, thanks to that money. The kids had college funds, and he started his own business.
I BURIED MY WIFE 20 YEARS AGO — YESTERDAY, SHE LITERALLY SAVED ME FROM A STROKE.
The rain hammered against the windshield, mirroring the storm raging inside me. It had been a year since the accident. A year since my wife, Emily, had vanished without a trace. The car, a mangled wreck, had been discovered at the edge of the Blackwood Forest, a chilling reminder of the day my world shattered.
The police had searched tirelessly, but to no avail. Volunteers combed the forest, their faces etched with sympathy, but their efforts yielded nothing. The prevailing theory, grim as it was, was that wild animals had taken her.
Emily’s mother, a woman of unwavering faith, had insisted on a funeral. “We need closure,” she’d said, her voice thick with grief. And so, we gathered, surrounded by the somber silence of the cemetery, to mourn a life cut tragically short.
But grief, it turned out, was a stubborn beast. It clung to me, a persistent shadow that followed me everywhere. I couldn’t escape the haunting memories – Emily’s laughter, the way she smelled of lavender, the warmth of her hand in mine.
And then, a few days ago, the unthinkable happened. I was at the local cafe, enjoying a much-needed cup of coffee, when a sudden wave of dizziness washed over me. The world tilted, the warm coffee spilling across the table. I slumped to the floor, the taste of bitter coffee and fear filling my mouth.
Panic surged through me as I struggled to breathe. Then, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Sir, are you alright?” a concerned voice asked.
As I tried to focus, a face swam into view. It was a woman, her eyes wide with concern. “Can you pronounce this word for me?” she asked, her voice clear and calm. “Apple.”
I managed a slurred “Apple.”
“Good. Now, can you lift your right hand?”
I tried, but my arm felt heavy, unresponsive. Fear, cold and clammy, gripped me. What was happening?
Then, as my vision cleared, I saw her. Her face, pale and drawn, framed by a tangled mass of hair. The same captivating blue eyes, the same mischievous glint in their depths. And there it was, unmistakable, the crescent-shaped birthmark on the left side of her forehead.
It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be Emily.
But it was.
She looked at me, a mixture of disbelief and fear in her eyes. “Ronald?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis once more. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at her, at the face I thought I had lost forever.
How? How could she be alive? Where had she been all this time?
Questions swirled in my mind, a chaotic whirlwind of disbelief and joy. But one thing was certain: Emily was alive. And after a year of despair, hope had finally returned, brighter than any sunrise. The rain hammered against the windows, mirroring the storm raging inside me. It had been six months since the accident. Six months since my wife, Emily, had vanished without a trace. Her car, mangled and abandoned, had been discovered at the edge of the Blackwood Forest, a place where legends of the supernatural mingled with tales of real danger.
The police had searched tirelessly, their efforts joined by a tireless band of volunteers. But all their efforts yielded nothing. No trace of Emily. Just the mangled car, a chilling testament to the tragedy.
Emily’s mother, a woman of unwavering faith, insisted on a funeral. “We need closure,” she had said, her voice thick with grief. And so, we gathered, a small circle of mourners, to say goodbye to the woman I loved. It was a heartbreaking ceremony, a hollow echo of the life we were supposed to build together.
Life without Emily felt surreal. The house, once filled with her laughter and the clatter of her cooking, was now eerily silent. Every corner whispered her name, every familiar scent a haunting reminder of her absence. I spent my days adrift, haunted by the “what ifs,” the “if onlys.”
Then, came that fateful morning. I was at the local cafe, the rain mirroring the grey haze that had settled over my life. As I reached for my coffee, the world tilted. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I crumpled to the floor, the hot coffee spilling across the table.
Suddenly, a pair of hands gripped my shoulders, steadying me. “Sir, are you alright?” A voice, concerned yet firm. I tried to focus, my vision blurring. Then, I saw her.
Her face, pale and drawn, was inches from mine. And there it was – the unmistakable birthmark on the left side of her forehead, a small crescent moon that I had kissed countless times.
Emily.
My breath hitched. “Emily?” I croaked, my voice hoarse.
Her eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief, met mine. “John?”
The world seemed to tilt again, this time with a dizzying sense of disbelief. How? How was she alive?
“I… I don’t understand,” I stammered, my voice trembling.
She looked around, her gaze landing on the concerned faces of the cafe patrons. “I… I can’t explain,” she whispered, her voice weak. “I woke up… somewhere. I don’t remember much. I was hurt, disoriented. I… I wandered for days.”
A flood of questions surged through me. Where had she been? What had happened? How had she survived? But before I could ask, she fainted.
As the paramedics rushed her to the hospital, I felt a surge of hope, a flicker of joy that I hadn’t felt in months. Emily was alive. She was here.
The days that followed were a whirlwind of medical tests, cautious questions, and whispered reassurances. Emily slowly regained her strength, her memory returning in fragments. She remembered the accident, the terrifying crash, the darkness that followed. She remembered waking up in a strange place, disoriented and alone, with no memory of how she got there. She had wandered for days, lost and terrified, surviving on berries and rainwater.
The mystery of her disappearance remained unsolved. The police were baffled, the medical professionals amazed. But none of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was that she was alive, that she was back in my arms.
Life after that was a slow, tentative journey back to normalcy. We faced countless questions, whispers, and curious stares. But we faced them together, hand in hand, cherishing every moment. The fear of losing her had cast a long shadow over our lives, but now, we clung to each other, determined to make the most of every precious day.
The accident had changed us, forever altering the course of our lives. But it had also taught us the true meaning of hope, the enduring power of love, and the incredible resilience of the human spirit. And as I looked at Emily, her eyes shining with a newfound appreciation for life, I knew that our love story, though interrupted, was far from over. We would face the future together, stronger than ever before, grateful for the second chance at the life we had almost lost.
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