When my grandmother passed away, her home filled quickly with relatives eager to hear the reading of her will.
While they whispered about jewelry, property, and savings, my eyes were fixed on something else — Berta,
Grandma’s aging golden retriever, sitting quietly by the door as if waiting for her to return. No one wanted
to take her; some even suggested putting her in a shelter. Remembering Grandma’s words — “Whoever loves Berta loves me too” —
I took her home, unaware that this small act of kindness would uncover a secret that would change my life forever.
Over the next few weeks, Berta became my silent companion through long nights after hospital shifts. One evening,
while brushing her fur, I noticed something I’d never seen before: an inscription on her collar. Beneath her
nameplate was a tiny latch holding a miniature key and a set of engraved numbers — a locker code. My curiosity
got the better of me. The next morning, I followed the trail to the old train station, opened locker 112, and
found a sealed folder marked “For Meredith.” Inside was a handwritten letter and Grandma’s official will.
In her familiar handwriting, she explained that whoever cared for Berta willingly — out of love, not greed — would inherit her estate.
As I stood there reading, I heard voices echoing down the hall. My relatives had followed me, certain I was hiding something.
The confrontation grew tense until Grandma’s lawyer, Mr. Johnson, arrived and calmly verified the documents.
He confirmed that Grandma’s will was binding — and that the rightful heir was the one who had shown genuine compassion.
The room fell silent as the truth sank in. My relatives left quietly, their disappointment filling the air.
Holding the letter close, I felt tears welling in my eyes. Grandma had trusted me not just with her fortune,
but with her legacy of kindness. I decided to use much of the inheritance to support the hospital where I worked
— helping families in need, just as Grandma had once helped me. As Berta rested her head on my lap, I realized
the real gift wasn’t the money at all — it was the love and faith my grandmother had left behind, hidden in the heart of a loyal old dog.