Jason and I had been together for 15 years. When his parents kicked him out when he was 17, my family took him in, helped him finish high school, and supported him, but we’ve never been officially married.
Ten years ago, Jason saved enough to purchase a house.
Four years ago, he was diagnosed with cancer, and as his health declined, I stepped in to help pay the mortgage.
The cancer took him in March. After this, his family suddenly reappeared.
A month ago, they reached out, demanding I hand over the keys to the house. They even brought a sassy lawyer with them. They had no idea that I had a background in law myself.
“He did leave you an inheritance,” I said, watching as their eyes lit up with anticipation. They were already grinning, thinking they had won.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a sealed envelope. “He left you this.”
But when they finished, they looked up at me, their anger boiling over.
“How dare you?! Give us the keys!” Jason’s father demanded, his voice trembling with fury.
I met his gaze steadily. “Okay, I’ll give it to you. But under one condition!”
Jason’s parents stared at me, their faces twisted with anger and greed. They had never accepted us, never visited him in the hospital, never once asked how I was holding up after losing the love of my life. And now, they had the audacity to demand his house? The home we built together?
But I was prepared for this.
His father’s eyes narrowed. “What condition?” he spat, his voice laced with disdain.
I held up the envelope, my hand steady. “You get the keys… if you fulfill Jason’s last wish.”
His mother folded her arms, skepticism etched on her face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. This was for Jason.
“He wrote you a letter,” I said, my voice firm. “He knew you’d come here, asking for what you didn’t earn. But he was a better man than you ever gave him credit for. He wanted to give you a chance. A chance to fix what you broke.”
Their faces faltered, confusion and unease flickering in their eyes.
I handed them the envelope. “Open it.”
The Last Wish
They tore open the letter, unfolding the crisp paper. Jason’s familiar handwriting covered the page. As they read, their faces fell. His mother’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. His father’s jaw clenched, his hands shaking.
I already knew what the letter said—I was there when Jason wrote it.
“Mom, Dad,
If you’re reading this, then I’m gone. I never heard from you after you disowned me for who I loved. It broke me. I spent years wondering why I wasn’t good enough for you, why you couldn’t love me as I am.
But I let that go, and I found love, acceptance, and a family of my own.
You didn’t want me then, but you’re here now. I don’t need your apology—I made peace with who you are. But if you want this house, if you want a piece of my life, then you have to earn it.
You will donate $50,000 to the LGBTQ+ youth center in our city—the same center that saved me when you threw me out. The center that kept me off the streets, that helped me finish school. You will write a letter to every child there, apologizing for how you treated me and promising to do better for them.
If you can’t do that, then walk away. Leave my house, and leave my memory in peace.
But if you do it… if you show that you can learn, can change, then the house is yours.
But you will never take away the love and family I found without you.
Goodbye,
Jason
A Choice to Make
They looked up at me, their faces pale. His mother’s eyes were glossy with tears. “He… he really wrote this?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
I nodded. “He wrote it two days before he passed. He wanted to give you a chance to make things right. But only if you were willing to change.”
His father’s face hardened. “This is extortion!” he barked. “This isn’t legal!”
I smiled coldly. “Actually, it is. Jason’s lawyer made sure of it. The house was his, and he can put any condition he wants on the inheritance. If you don’t like it, you’re free to walk away. But you’re not getting the keys without fulfilling his last wish.”
His father opened his mouth to argue, but his wife grabbed his arm, stopping him. Her eyes were locked on the letter, tears now freely streaming down her face. “He… he was homeless? We did that to him?”
I softened, just a little. “Yes. But he found his way. He found love. He built a life. Without you.”
Her face crumpled, a sob escaping her lips. “I… I didn’t know…”
I looked at them, standing there with Jason’s final words in their hands. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for them. Almost.
But then I remembered all the years Jason spent trying to prove his worth to people who would never accept him. I remembered the nights he cried, wondering why his parents couldn’t just love him.
“You have a choice,” I said, my voice firm. “Do what he asked, or walk away. But either way, you don’t get to take from him anymore.”
His father’s face was red with anger, his fists clenched. But his mother… her shoulders sagged, her face crumbling. “We’ll do it,” she whispered, her voice broken. “We’ll do what he asked.”
I nodded. “Good. When the donation is made and the letters are written, the keys will be yours.”
I turned to leave, but then paused. “But know this—you lost him long before today. Not because of who he loved, but because of who you couldn’t love. And that’s something you’ll have to live with.”
I walked out, leaving them standing there, holding Jason’s last words.
He may be gone, but his legacy—his courage—lived on.
And even in death, Jason found a way to change the world. One heart at a time.
Leave a Reply