As I stood beside my grandfather’s grave, my fingers dug deep into the pockets of a too-small black dress, desperately seeking warmth. The chilly October breeze carried the voice of the priest, which merged with the rustle of dry leaves. It was the saddest day of my life, and yet, the sorrow I felt seemed to stand alone against a backdrop of something entirely different.The rest of my family wasn’t mourning Grandpa; they were seething. He had left each of them a measly one-dollar inheritance, and their outrage hung in the air, thick and bitter. It seemed to overshadow even the funeral itself. Uncle Vic and Aunt Nancy, my mother’s siblings, wore tight expressions, a mix of disbelief and anger. My mother stood beside me, her arms crossed firmly across her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line.

One dollar each,” Aunt Nancy hissed under her breath. “One damn dollar! That man had plenty of money. How could he do this to us?”Uncle Vic shook his head, letting out a sarcastic laugh. “Spiteful old man. I swear he planned this just to piss us off.”“Typical Dad,” my mom muttered, her eyes narrowing. She shot me a sideways glance, her suspicion obvious. “Dahlia was always his favorite. I bet she got more than the rest of us.”I kept my eyes glued to Grandpa’s coffin, feeling the weight of their resentment. They were all so angry, so consumed with what they believed they deserved. It was sad, really. I hadn’t received anything more than they had—only a single dollar bill—but I also wasn’t interested in Grandpa’s money. I wasn’t here for that