Inheriting Grandma’s duplex was supposed to be simple—Amanda got the second floor, and I got the first, along with the garden and pool. But things quickly became complicated.
Amanda complained about the garden and pool, claiming I didn’t need them. She suggested we combine the house to save money, but I refused. Soon, her kids were making a mess on my balcony, and the noise upstairs became unbearable. The final straw was when a muddy sneaker fell into my wine. Amanda laughed it off and suggested I sell my share.
A week later, water leaked through my ceiling. Amanda acted unfazed, blaming the house’s age. A plumber named Ryan arrived and revealed that the pool’s faulty plumbing was causing the damage. Amanda, smiling, suggested I sell her my share again. But I wasn’t ready to give up.
The next day, my dad invited me to Christmas dinner, where I learned that Ryan was his new stepson. Shocked, I realized that Amanda and I had been fighting over a house that wasn’t even ours. Dad revealed that Grandma’s real will had left the house to him, and he had divided it to teach us a lesson. If we didn’t learn to get along, he’d sell the house.
Months passed, and Amanda and I found a fragile truce. We worked together to fix up the house, with Ryan even restoring my ruined paintings. By summer, the house was transformed, and we held a family barbecue. As we enjoyed the day together, I realized that Grandma’s true gift wasn’t the house—it was the chance to bring our family together.
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