Not Her Legacy to Take

After two years away on a private wellness retreat, I received a selfie from my daughter.
She was on a milk delivery truck, dressed in a drab work uniform.
Mom, are you coming home soon? I miss you so much.
My heart softened. My daughter, Lily, was finally growing up, learning the value of starting from the ground up.
I was about to type a few words of praise when I looked closer. Her skin was darkened by the sun, and the shirt she wore under the uniform was one I’d bought for her three years ago. It was pilled and worn thin, yet she hadn’t thrown it away. My daughter, the heiress to a billion-dollar fortune, experiencing life? This seemed a bit too real.
I zoomed in again. Her shoes were falling apart, a gaping hole at the toe.
The more I looked, the more a cold unease crept over me.
The next second, I was scrolling through my adopted daughter's Instagram. It was a highlight reel of male models and supercars. On her wrist, she wore my limited-edition, full-diamond bracelet—one of only a handful in the world.
But what truly made my blood run cold was the Rolls-Royce that appeared most frequently in her photos. That was the graduation gift I had bought for Lily. How did it become hers?!
…
I nearly crushed my phone in my hand. I swiped through photo after photo until I saw it. The locket around Jessica’s neck. My breath caught in my throat.
That was our family heirloom.
It had been passed down through the Geller family for generations. How could it be hanging around the neck of an outsider? I remembered it perfectly: on Lily’s eighteenth birthday, I had placed it around her neck myself.
My hands shaking, I found the number for my daughter's university and called the registrar's office, demanding to know about Lily Geller’s academic standing.
The woman’s answer almost stopped my heart.
"Lily Geller? She dropped out months ago."
Dropped out? My daughter… dropped out? The world tilted on its axis. My head started to buzz.
I immediately video-called my husband, Michael. He answered, freshly dressed after a dip in his private hot tub, a towel around his neck. His expression was utterly nonchalant. "It's just a locket, Amelia. Jessica liked it, so I let her borrow it for a few days. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? They're sisters, it’s normal for them to share."
Normal? Had he forgotten what that locket represented?
I fought to keep my voice steady. "Why isn't Lily in school?"
"She didn't want to go. What was I supposed to do?" Michael replied dismissively, then hung up.
I trembled with a rage so intense it felt like fire in my veins. That man’s indulgence of our adopted daughter knew no bounds.
Looking back, even before I left for my retreat, Michael had been growing more and more distant with Lily. When she was little, he’d treated her like a princess, spoiling her rotten. But two years ago, after Jessica arrived, he suddenly put Lily on a strict vegetarian diet, claiming it was for her health. Meanwhile, Jessica was feasting on steak and lobster in our own home.
I’d even joked about it at the time, asking if every bite Lily didn’t eat would magically end up on Jessica’s plate. He’d called me petty, saying we could certainly afford it. Now I see it. I was so blind.
I tried calling Lily again, but the line was busy. The poor girl was probably out on her delivery route.
I dialed my neighbor. We were close; she would know something.
When she answered, her voice was hesitant. "Amelia, thank goodness you called! It's… well, it's not really our place to say, but… Lily's had a really rough couple of years."
I pressed for details, but she refused to say more.
Next, I called our housekeeper, Mrs. Evans. I didn’t waste any time. "Our household expenses have tripled in the last two years. Why did Lily drop out of the prestigious university she worked so hard to get into? Why was I kept in the dark about all this? Tell me, who has all that money been spent on?"
Mrs. Evans, who had always been meek and respectful, suddenly found a spine. "Miss Lily didn't want to go to school. She said being there gave her headaches. Delivering milk makes her happy."
Happy? My daughter was a born academic. Her entire life had been about her studies. I knew better than anyone how much blood, sweat, and tears she’d poured into getting into that university.
The more I thought about it, the more I was certain something was deeply wrong.
I opened Michael’s Facebook page. Not long ago, he’d taken Mrs. Evans, our driver, and Jessica on an overseas vacation.
And at that exact same time, my poor daughter had been rushed to the hospital and treated for severe heatstroke.
The wellness center called to ask if I wanted to renew my membership. Renew it? To hell with that.
I couldn't wait another second. I had my assistant book the first flight back. I was going home. I needed to see for myself what in God's name had happened to my family.

1
That night, the company's executive chat was on fire. Rumors of my return were flying, with everyone speculating I was coming back to clean house. After all, I had stepped away two years ago when the company was at its peak, choosing a quiet retreat over the boardroom.
For two years, I thought of my daughter every single day. I’d ignored every message from my top executives. The moment my plane touched down, I felt an urgent pull homeward.
It was late when I finally arrived. Lily had just gotten home from her route.
I rushed forward and took her hands in mine, my heart sinking at the touch of rough, heavy callouses that had no business being on the hands of a girl her age.
She threw her arms around me, her voice trembling. "Mom, you're back. You're not leaving again, are you? You'll stay home this time?"
A chill went down my spine. My daughter was twenty years old, yet she sounded like a frightened child. Her entire demeanor was timid, all her former spark and energy gone.
I led her into the courtyard, wanting to show her my surprise. But as we walked, she began to tremble, like a startled animal. When I pulled the cover off the limited-edition custom motorcycle, Lily’s expression remained blank. There was no flicker of excitement.
I remembered how obsessed she used to be with motorcycles, so different from other girls. How could she have changed so much in just two years? A wave of sorrow washed over me.
"Lily, sweetheart. Tell me what's been happening."
Before she could answer, the gate screeched open. Jessica roared in behind the wheel of a sports car, parking with an arrogance that suggested she owned the place.
Her eyes immediately locked onto the new motorcycle, and they lit up. "Mom! You're back! And you brought me such an amazing present!" She started to swing a leg over it.
I stepped in her way. "This isn't for you. It's for Lily."
"Oh, come on. We're sisters. What's yours is mine, right, Lily?" Jessica said with a saccharine smile, looking at my daughter.
Lily kept her head down, silent. She quietly picked up a bucket and cloth and began to wash Jessica’s car.
I stared, dumbfounded. I grabbed Lily's hand. "What are you doing? Let the staff wash it, or send it to the dealership. Why are you doing this?"
"It's okay, Mom. I'm used to it," Lily mumbled.
In that moment of distraction, Jessica had already started the motorcycle. With a deafening roar, she sped off into the night.
Watching my daughter move like a puppet on strings, my fists clenched. Before, she would have chattered away for hours, telling me everything. Now, she wouldn't say a word about her own life. And Jessica’s entitled attitude, as if everything that belonged to Lily was hers by right—it was all completely, horribly wrong.
I decided I would get to the bottom of it.
That night, I went to Lily's room to sleep with her.
"Why did you drop out of university? You were so thrilled when you got in. I never imagined you would just quit. Did something happen?" I tried to keep my voice gentle.
Lily clutched the blanket, turning her face away. "I just don't like crowded places. I wanted to be alone."
Her answer made no sense. My daughter had always been a social butterfly with a hundred friends. Since when did she prefer solitude?
Later that night, Jessica’s motorcycle screeched into the driveway like a wild animal, crashing into the main gate with a deafening bang. Lily shot up in bed, terrified. I quickly pulled her close, stroking her back to soothe her.
She seemed hypersensitive to sound, which only deepened my confusion. I did a quick search online. Anxiety disorders. Sufferers were often easily startled by loud noises, which could trigger traumatic memories.
And through all of this, my husband, Michael, had never said a single word to me.

2
That first night back, I called Michael relentlessly. Not only had he not met me at the airport, he was now completely ignoring me. His behavior was getting more outrageous by the minute.
When I first walked into the house, I'd noticed that the living room walls were covered in framed photos of Jessica. There wasn’t a single picture of Lily. What was this? Had a cuckoo taken over my nest? Our family portrait was gone, too. The audacity was staggering.
I remembered the day Michael first brought Jessica home two years ago. She was dressed in shabby, ill-fitting clothes, clearly from the countryside. Michael explained that he’d been in a car accident; his car had plunged into a river, and Jessica had heroically saved his life. He said she was a kind, good-hearted girl, the same age as Lily. He wanted to adopt her, bring her into our home to be a companion for Lily and to "strengthen the family."
I had been firmly against it. It wasn't that I was ungrateful. I was happy to support Jessica financially, to provide for her in every way. But to have her move in with us, to live under our roof? It felt wrong.
But Michael was insistent, claiming a "fateful connection" to Jessica. When I refused, he went on a hunger strike, accusing me of being heartless. Eventually, I gave in, figuring I could find an excuse to send her away after a while.
I never imagined that in just two years, Jessica would be acting like this was her own home.
In the early hours of the morning, I was woken by shouting in the courtyard. I pulled back the curtains. And there was Jessica, holding a meeting with a group of our security guards. The way she postured, you’d think she was planning a coup.
My temper flared. Since when did our household security answer to her? I was going to find out what this girl was up to.
I hurried downstairs. As I passed Jessica's room, I caught a glimpse of the gifts I’d brought back from my trip—piles of them, many still in their original packaging, all stacked in her room. Before I could process that, Jessica's voice, sharp and commanding, drifted up from downstairs.
I quickened my pace.
Jessica stood there, chin up, playing the part of the young mistress perfectly. "My mother is back. From now on, you all need to watch what you say. I want security tightened around the entire property. No unauthorized personnel, no gossip, and if you have any useless opinions, you can keep them to yourselves. Do you understand?"
Her imperious tone, the way she commanded them—she sounded like she'd been in charge for years. You’d think she was the true head of this household.
I suppressed my rage and stepped out in front of the group. "What is all this?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm. "When did Jessica become the one in charge here? Why wasn't I informed?"
The head of security, a woman who had always been my most trusted guard, visibly relaxed when she saw me.
I turned my cold gaze on Jessica. "Jessica, you need to learn your place. If there is a next time, you can pack your bags and get out."
I had humiliated her in front of everyone. Her face turned a blotchy, furious red.
"Mom, I… I was just excited you were back," she stammered. "I wanted to help out…"
"That's enough," I cut her off. "Why are Lily's gifts in your room? And this designer outfit—where did you get it? Who bought it for you? This jacket alone costs twenty thousand dollars. Who gave you permission to spend money like that?"
Jessica lowered her head, her voice shrinking. "Dad… Dad bought it for me. He said it was a reward for studying so hard."
"Take it off. Now. I'm cancelling all your credit cards. If I find you being this extravagant again, you are out of this house for good."
But instead of backing down, she snapped back at me. "You can't tell me what to do! I'm spending my dad's money, not yours!"

3
Her defiant entitlement was so absurd it was almost laughable. What truly infuriated me, though, was that when she raised her voice, all the guards lowered their heads. They were clearly used to being bullied by her.
Just as I was about to lose it, Michael walked in. He immediately sensed the tense atmosphere. "Amelia, what are you doing? Why are you picking on a child? It's not like we can't afford it. What's the big deal if Jessica buys a few nice things?"
The moment Michael spoke, Jessica's chin lifted. She shot me a look of pure, triumphant defiance.
So that was it. The pretense was over.
"I'll eat what my dad provides and spend what my dad gives me. It has nothing to do with you!" she spat. "From now on, you manage your daughter, and stay out of my business!" She spun around to head upstairs.
I lunged forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her back so hard she stumbled.
"You don't get to make the rules in this house! Pack your things and get out. Now!"
Jessica glared at me, then turned to Michael, expecting him to intervene.
But this time, he just waved a dismissive hand. "Alright, that's enough. Just go get ready for school."
Just then, Lily came downstairs, ready to leave on her three-wheeled delivery bike.
I stopped her, pulling the work vest off her. "You're taking the day off. You're not going. We're going to settle this now, while everyone is here."
"Mom, if I don't go, they'll dock my pay. The whole week's work will be for nothing," Lily said, her voice filled with anxiety.
One of the loyal guards quickly stepped forward, taking the bike and the delivery list from her. "Miss Lily, I'll cover your route today. You take a rest."
I turned to my personal assistant and told her to bring every security guard from my corporate office over to the house—triple the number we had on site.
Before long, the entire estate was surrounded. Not even a fly could get in or out.
"No one leaves this property today without my permission."
I had my most trusted guard pull up the security footage from the house servers.
The color drained from Michael's face. "Amelia, you still don't trust me! We agreed—no cameras in the house! You installed them behind my back!"
I ignored him and had my assistant set up a large screen in the courtyard.
"You can't show that!" Jessica screamed, lunging forward to stop them. My guards immediately intercepted her.
An image appeared on the screen. The very first frame sent a bolt of pure fury through me.
I spun around and slapped Michael across the face. The crack echoed through the courtyard. "This is how you act like a father!"

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