It’s fascinating, isn’t it?

After 32 years of exclusion—from birthdays, holidays, Christmases, and the very heart of what family is supposed to be—suddenly, the word family is everywhere.

Now, according to whispers and WhatsApp messages, he’s “dying.” And there’s an inheritance to be shared.

And just like that… the doors swing open. The people who never made room at the table will now make room in their diaries, in their hearts, in their tears. Because there is so much at stake now. So much to gain.

But let’s pause for a moment and look a little closer.

Medical reports suggest a far different story than the one being passed around in messages. A man playing competitive padel several times a week is not someone fading quietly into illness. The narrative doesn’t quite match the reality, does it?

The timing is curious too. He changed his will the day after the abuse—strategically, not sentimentally. And now, those who helped isolate and exclude for over three decades are gathering, drawn not by love, but by legacy.

This is not about grief. It’s about gain.

This is not about connection. It’s about control.

And as someone who was denied the very basics of family inclusion—while being used, judged, gaslit, and silenced—what I feel most now is… clarity.

Let them have the money. Let them have the titles, the furniture, the accounts, the scraps of a legacy built on manipulation and image. They can squabble over possessions and pretend it’s love. I’m not playing that game anymore.

Because my life now is built on something far more real.

I don’t need to fight over a will to feel whole. I’m surrounded by love that can’t be measured or divided. The kind that shows up every day, not just when an estate is being calculated. I live in peace, not performance.

And here’s what I know from a psychological lens:

Real love doesn’t require a funeral to appear.

Real family doesn’t need a reason to include you.

And real grief doesn’t come from the loss of things—it comes from the loss of connection, truth, and time.

But I’ve already grieved. Not for him—but for the years I spent trying to belong in a space where I was never truly wanted.

Now, I belong to myself.

My life may not come with a windfall or a final reckoning, but it’s rich in authenticity. I have nothing to offer but love—unconditional, unperformed, and immeasurable.

And in the end, isn’t that the only kind of wealth that really matters?