After My Parents Died, My Aunt Took My Inheritance and Gave Me a Mattress on the Floor – Years Later, She Knocked on My Door

Years passed.

I opened my own place. Nothing fancy. Small.

Clean. Busy. People came for the desserts and stayed because it felt warm in there.

Safe.

Eventually, I bought a house. Not huge. But mine.

And then one evening, after a long day at the bakery, someone knocked on my door.

Not a polite knock. Three sharp hits. I frowned, wiped my hands on my jeans, and checked the peephole.

My chest tightened.

Linda.

She looked older. Smaller. Like gravity had finally started pulling on her the way it pulls on everyone else.

Her hair was dyed a nervous brown.

Her coat too thin for the weather. Her purse clutched to her chest like it was the only thing holding her upright.

I opened the door a crack. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes flicked past me, straight into my house.

“Hi, Ethan. It’s cold. You have to let me in.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

She sighed, dramatically.

“I’m sick.”

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