The applause around me was loud, almost deafening. But it wasn’t for me, not really. I stood in line on the stage, my black graduation gown draped perfectly, cap pinned in place, the gold tassel brushing against my cheek. The announcer called my name, Samantha Reed, master’s in clinical psychology. I walked forward, chin high, smile tight. Cameras flashed from the audience, but none of them belonged to my family.

Their seats, five of them right in the middle row, sat empty. Before we begin, drop a comment and tell us where are you from and from which city you’re watching our videos. And after watching the whole video, don’t forget to tell us what would you do in this situation.

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I’d known they wouldn’t be here. They were probably clinking champagne glasses right now, celebrating my younger sister Danielle’s bridal shower in my parents’ backyard. Still, the sight of those vacant chairs burned into my chest like acid.

I took my diploma holder from the dean, shook his hand, and forced myself to hold the smile until I stepped off the stage. My heels clicked sharply against the floor as I crossed to the side where graduates were gathering. I flipped open the holder, expecting to see the fancy paper with my degree.

Instead, something slid out. An envelope, plain white, no return address. The paper looked expensive, heavier than normal.

My name, Sam, was handwritten in a familiar, neat style. For a second, I thought maybe it was from one of my professors, but my fingers hesitated. The hum of the crowd seemed to fade away, replaced by the sharp, insistent buzz of my phone in my pocket.

I pulled it out. Seventy-two missed calls, all from mom, dad, and Danielle. The buzzing continued as I stood frozen, my thumb hovering over the envelope’s flap.

Something in my gut twisted. My breath came shallow.

«Sam?» A voice pulled me back.

It was Rebecca, my best friend from the program.

«What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.»

I shoved the envelope back inside the diploma holder, my heart pounding.

«I… I don’t know yet.»

My phone lit up again. Another incoming call.

«Dad?» I declined it without thinking.

Rebecca frowned.

«Why aren’t you answering?»

«Because whatever it is… » I glanced at the crowd, the noise, the lights.

«It’s going to ruin today, and I’m not giving them that.»

The words tasted bitter but felt right. I wasn’t going to let them hijack this moment, not again.

But the phone wouldn’t stop. Over and over, the same names flashing across the screen like a warning. My skin prickled.

My palms slick with sweat. I could feel the envelope pressing against my arm through the holder. By the time the ceremony ended and we walked outside into the bright afternoon sun, I’d made a decision.

I was going to read it. I stepped away from the chattering graduates, away from the smiling professors and the long line of parents, taking photos. I slipped into the quiet corner of the building, the air cooler here, shadows cutting across the brick.

I slid my finger under the envelope’s flap and pulled out a single folded sheet of paper. Four short lines, written in that same neat handwriting. As I read them, my heart stopped.

My knees nearly buckled, and for the first time all day, I understood why they were calling me 72 times. My hands were trembling so badly I almost dropped the paper. The handwriting was careful, steady, but the words, they hit like a fist to the gut.

Samantha, what you don’t know is about to change everything. Your grandmother’s estate was never divided. You’re the sole inheritor.

Call my office immediately. Before they do, M. Cyr Turner, attorney at law. I read it once, twice, three times.

My pulse was thundering in my ears. I hadn’t even known my grandmother had an estate left to divide. My parents had always said she’d passed away with nothing but debts.

They’d laughed about it, even, like the woman who’d raised my father had been a burden instead of family. But this, this was real. The weight of the paper, the precision of the handwriting, the name at the bottom.

I knew Michael Turner. He’d been my grandmother’s lawyer for decades, and the phrase that stuck out like a neon sign, before they do. I didn’t need anyone to explain who they were.

My phone buzzed again in my hand. Mom, this time. I stared at the screen, the little thumbnail picture of her in the garden, smiling like she hadn’t iced me out of every major family moment for years.

Rebecca stepped closer, her voice low.

«Sam, what’s in it?»

I shook my head.

«I can’t.»

My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.

«I think my family’s been lying to me for years, and now they know I know.»

Her eyes widened.

«What do you mean?»

«I mean…» I broke off, because the phone buzzed again. Dad, this time.

Followed by Danielle. Then Mom again. Back to back to back.

They weren’t stopping. My hands went clammy. This wasn’t just them trying to congratulate me late.

This was fear. Panic. I shoved the letter into my bag, grabbed Rebecca’s arm, and started walking fast toward the parking lot.

The June sun was hot on my face, but my blood felt cold.

«They’ll come here,» I muttered. «If they think I’m with people, they’ll try to corner me.»

«I need to get out before they find me.»

Rebecca’s heels clicked against the concrete as she hurried to keep up.

«Sam, you’re scaring me. What is going on?»

I stopped by my car, gripping the handle but not unlocking it yet. I looked at her dead in the eye.

«They’ve been keeping something from me. For years. And whatever it is, it’s worth enough to make them drop Danielle’s party and call me 72 times in three hours.»

Rebecca’s brows drew together.

«So what are you going to do?»

My stomach churned. The smart move would be to call Michael Turner immediately. But a darker part of me, the part still raw from every insult, every time they skipped out on my milestones, wanted to make them wait, wanted to watch them squirm, just like I’d been made to.

The thought both thrilled and scared me. I finally unlocked the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. My phone lit up again, this time with a text from mom.

Don’t sign anything. Don’t talk to anyone. We’re coming to you.

Now. I stared at the words, my breath shallow. They knew I had the letter.