After my grandmother’s passing, I was still grieving when her neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, came knocking. She wasn’t offering condolences, though. She demanded to see my grandmother’s will, convinced her grandkids deserved a share of the inheritance.

“Mrs. Jenkins,” I said, trying to stay calm, “the will only included family.”

She huffed, insisting that her grandkids had meant the world to Grandma. I could barely keep from laughing—Grandma had always complained about them, calling them nuisances. Yet, here was Mrs. Jenkins, claiming they deserved something.

I politely told her no, but she wouldn’t leave. That’s when I had an idea. If she wanted to act like family, I’d treat her like family. I grabbed a piece of paper, scribbled down a list of Grandma’s medical, funeral, and legal expenses, and handed it to her.

“If you’re part of the family, you can help cover these costs,” I said.

Mrs. Jenkins’ eyes widened as she saw the numbers. She sputtered in disbelief, calling it crazy, but I stood firm. Finally, after a tense silence, she turned and stormed off my porch, defeated.

As I closed the door, a sense of pride washed over me. Somewhere, I was sure Grandma was smiling down at how I’d handled “that entitled lady.”