I Returned From The Notary To Tell My Family That My Uncle Left Me Four Apartments And…

The morning air felt unusually heavy as Lena stepped out of the bus and walked toward the gray bricked notaries office. Her hands trembled inside her faded wool coat, clutching her worn purse as if it held her courage. She wasn’t used to walking into fancy offices. She was used to being sent to fetch things, to serve tea, to fade quietly into the background while others spoke over her.

Her uncle Thomas had passed away two weeks ago. The family hadn’t cried much. He was wealthy, reclusive, and to them, a strange old man who wasted his life on art and silence. But to Lena, he had been the only one who ever asked how she really was, the only one who saw her. When the notary’s assistant called her name, Lena felt her pulse in her throat.

She followed the man into a room lined with books and heavy wooden furniture. At the far end of the desk, sat Mister Weller, the notary, spectacles balanced on his nose, a stack of documents in front of him, he cleared his throat. Miss Lena Carter, your late uncle, left behind specific instructions for his estate.

You, my dear, are the primary beneficiary. The words didn’t make sense at first. beneficiary,” she echoed softly. “Yes, Mr. Weller said, smiling faintly.” “Mr. Thomas Carter left you four apartments, all located in central London, fully paid, legally transferred to your name.” Lena blinked, her breath catching.

“Four apartments?” He nodded and handed her the folder. Inside were deeds, letters, and official seals that shimmerred faintly under the office light. Her throat tightened, tears threatening to fall. She remembered all the nights she’d gone hungry, working double shifts at the cafe just to survive. Her mother had told her she was a burden, that she’d never be worth anything.

Now here she was holding proof that someone had believed she was worth everything. “Your uncle wanted you to live without fear,” the notary added gently. He said you’d understand what that means. Lena left the office in stunned silence. The city’s noise felt distant, her heartbeat louder than traffic. She sat at a nearby bench, the autumn wind brushing her hair.

She thought of her family, her mother’s cold eyes, her cousin’s smug laughter whenever she showed up at family dinners in thrift store clothes. They had always said she was lucky to be allowed at the table. She smiled for the first time in years, a small, dangerous smile. When she reached home that evening, her mother was waiting, arms crossed, curiosity sharp in her gaze.

“Well, did Thomas leave you anything? Lena placed her purse down slowly, meeting her mother’s eyes.” “Yes,” she said softly, her voice steady. “He left me more than you’ll ever imagine.” Her mother scoffed, not understanding the storm behind her calm. But Lena knew this was just the beginning. The next morning, Lena woke to the sound of her phone buzzing non-stop.

Missed calls, dozens of them from her mother, her aunt, even her cousins who hadn’t spoken to her in months. For a moment she just stared at the screen, a half’s mild tugging at her lips. The notary must have notified the rest of the family. The news had spread faster than she expected. When she finally answered, her mother’s voice came sharp and sugary through the line.

Lena, darling, why didn’t you tell us about your inheritance? We’re so happy for you. Lena almost laughed at the word we. For years, that word had excluded her. Now, it wanted to pull her back in. I was still processing everything. she said calmly. “Oh, of course, of course,” her mother replied, pretending warmth. “Come over tonight.

Let’s have dinner, talk things through as a family.” Lena agreed, though she already knew what kind of talk it would be. By evening, she stood before the old family house, the one where she’d grown up cleaning dishes and serving meals no one thanked her for. The dining table was already set, the air thick with perfume and pretense.

Her cousin Emily was the first to greet her. Lena, you look well. The pause was deliberate, her eyes scanning Lena’s modest dress. Thank you, Lena replied, her tone gentle but unreadable. They all began talking about Uncle Thomas, about how unfair life could be, about how he must have been confused near the end.

Her aunt even suggested he might have been too sentimental when he wrote his will. Lena sipped her water quietly. Every word felt like a dagger wrapped in silk. So Emily leaned forward. What do you plan to do with the apartments? You can’t manage them alone. Maybe we can help keep it in the family. The others nodded eagerly, masks of concern hiding their greed.

Lena’s fingers traced the rim of her glass. I appreciate the offer, she said softly, but Uncle Thomas trusted me to handle them myself. I intend to honor that. Her mother’s smile faltered. Darling, we’re just trying to make sure you don’t make any foolish choices. Lena looked up, eyes calm but sharp. You mean choices that don’t benefit you? The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Her mother’s jaw tightened.

Emily shifted in her chair and her aunt forced a laugh to break the tension. Lena stood, slipping her coat on. “Thank you for dinner. It’s good to know how much you all suddenly care.” She walked out before they could respond, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor, each step steady, deliberate, powerful.

Outside, the night air was cool and freeing. For the first time, she didn’t feel small leaving that house. She felt tall, untouchable. They had taken her kindness for weakness for years. Now they’d learn what happens when quiet hearts stop being afraid. A week passed before Lena found the courage to visit the first apartment her uncle had left her.

It was in a quiet corner of central London, a brick building with ivy crawling up its walls, old but dignified. The caretaker handed her the keys with a respectful nod, saying, “Your uncle was a kind man, miss. Always said he was waiting for someone who truly deserved this place.” Inside, the air was still, filled with faint traces of his cologne and oil paint.

Canvases leaned against the walls, sketches scattered across a long oak table. The sunlight through the tall windows caught dust moes like golden confetti. Lena stood there for a long while, her chest tight with memory. Then on the desk she saw a sealed envelope with her name written in her uncle’s steady handwriting.

She sat down and opened it, her hands trembling. My dearest Lena, you were the only one who saw me not as a wallet, not as a story to tell others, but as a man who once loved art and laughter. You listened when no one else cared. So now I give you what no one else earned. Use it to live boldly. Build something that reminds you of your strength.

You owe the world nothing. Uncle Thomas tears streamed silently down her cheeks. For so long she’d begged for validation from the very people who belittled her. And yet it had always been Uncle Thomas who believed in her without conditions. That night she walked through each of the four apartments, each one unique, each one filled with little traces of him.

A painting here, a note there, a forgotten teacup by the window. By dawn, she had made her decision. One apartment would be her home. Another would be transformed into an art gallery, a tribute to her uncle’s creative soul. The remaining two she’d rent out, using the income to fuel her independence. When the family found out, they erupted.

Her mother called, voice shaking with anger. You can’t just waste this inheritance on paintings. You need to think about the family. The family? Lena replied coldly. You mean the same family that forgot my birthday 5 years in a row? Her cousin Emily sent her long, dramatic messages, pretending to be worried about Lena’s financial judgment.

Then came veiled threats about contesting the will, but Lena was ready. The notary confirmed the will was airtight multiple witnesses signed and filed months before her uncle’s passing. Her family had no ground to stand on. A week later, Lena invited them all to lunch at her uncle’s favorite cafe. She handed each of them a copy of the legal document.

“I thought you’d appreciate transparency,” she said calmly. her mother’s lips thinned. “You’ve changed, Lena.” Lena met her gaze unflinching. “No,” she said softly. “I’ve just stopped letting you define me.” And as she left them speechless at the table, she finally understood what her uncle meant by living boldly. 6 months later, the city skyline glowed against the evening sky as Lena stood by the window of her new apartment, her home.

Below her, the streets hummed with life. The same streets she once walked in worn shoes and borrowed hope. But now everything had changed. The art gallery she opened the Carter collection had become one of the most talked about small exhibits in London. Artists from humble backgrounds came there to showcase their work, just as her uncle once dreamed.

Every wall whispered his legacy. Every painting reflected her courage. She didn’t flaunt her wealth. She didn’t need to. Her silence spoke louder than any of her family’s empty apologies. They came one by one, pretending concern, cloaking envy with politeness. Emily arrived first in designer clothes and a forced smile. “Lena, I wanted to see your gallery.

It’s lovely,” she said, her tone wobbling between admiration and resentment. Lena smiled, calm and warm. “Thank you, Emily. Would you like some tea? The same words she had said a thousand times before back when she served tea like a servant in her own home. But this time she poured herself in her gallery, surrounded by guests who greeted her first.

As they sipped in silence, Emily’s eyes fell on a large painting at the center. A portrait of an older man, his gaze kind and knowing. “That’s Uncle Thomas, isn’t it?” Emily asked softly. Lena nodded. I call it the one who saw me. For a moment, Emily said nothing. She just stared at the painting and at Lena, standing tall beside it, radiant and self assured.

Then, with a faint sigh, she muttered. You’ve really built something beautiful. Lena looked at her cousin, her expression kind but distant. Yes, she said gently. From everything the rest of you threw away. That night, after everyone left, Lena locked the gallery doors and walked along the quiet streets. The city lights shimmerred in the glass windows, reflecting her smile.

She wasn’t angry anymore. The bitterness had melted into peace. Her revenge had never been about humiliation. It was about rising gracefully, undeniably, in full view of those who once stepped over her. Her mother called occasionally now, voice softer than before, often pretending to be proud. Lena answered politely, but never invited her over.

Some distances were meant to stay. As she reached home, Lena paused by her uncle’s old journal on the shelf. She whispered, “I did it, Uncle Thomas. You gave me freedom, and I used it well.” Outside, the wind rustled against the window, almost like an answer. Lena poured herself a cup of tea, sat by the window, and watched the city pulse beneath her feet.

She was no longer invisible. She no longer needed to be seen because now she saw herself. And that, she thought with a smile, was the sweetest revenge of