My grandmother raised me and loved two things most: apple pies on Sundays and her old golden retriever, Bailey. My cousin Zack only showed up when he wanted money.
At the will reading, Zack inherited $100,000, the jewelry, and the house proceeds. He smirked.
I got Bailey.
Zack laughed—until the lawyer asked me to flip Bailey’s collar tag. Engraved on it was a safety deposit box number.
Inside the box were deeds, investments, and a letter from Grandma. Over $750,000—left only to the person who chose Bailey.
Her message was simple: anyone can chase money, but only someone with a good heart would take an old dog without hesitation.
Zack burned through his inheritance within a year.
Bailey lived two happy years with me. I restored Grandma’s house, and every Sunday morning, the block smells like apple pie again.
Because love—not money—was the real inheritance.
