“Love is the greatest inheritance,” my Grandma Rosalind always said. I didn’t truly understand until the summer I turned 15. While my cousins partied, I spent my days gardening and baking with Grandma. Her hands trembled more than before, but her warmth never faded. “Promise me,” she said one evening, “always stay true to yourself.”

A week before her 89th birthday, tragedy struck — Grandma suddenly lost her hearing. Despite it all, we threw her a party. I stayed by her side, sharing memories and photos. That’s when I overheard Uncle Bill and Aunt Sarah whispering vile things — about how they couldn’t wait to get Grandma’s house. I was furious, but Grandma just smiled, oddly calm.

Later that night, she revealed the truth: she wasn’t fully deaf. “I heard everything,” she said. “Now we show them who they truly are.” With recorders hidden over the next few days, we captured every greedy word from her children’s mouths. It broke my heart, but Grandma stayed strong. “Love is the greatest inheritance,” she reminded me, “not money.”

A week later, Grandma passed peacefully. At the will reading, each relative received a small recorder. Their own cruel words played aloud. Ashen faces, stunned silence. Then, my turn — a letter from Grandma: she left everything to me, the one who loved her without condition.

As my greedy relatives fumed, each clutching a single dollar and a note saying, “Hope this is enough,” I held back tears. Grandma’s love had always been her true legacy.

And now, it was mine to carry forward.