Orphaned My Entire Life, I Never Expected to Receive a Life-Changing Inheritance

I Received a Huge Inheritance Even Though I Was an Orphan My Whole Life and Had No Relatives

I knew all my life that I was an orphan with no family and no connection to the past. One phone call altered everything, exposing a terrible secret that would permanently affect my perspective on my parents’ untimely demise and an unexpected bequest from a man I had never heard of.

That Thursday afternoon, I had no idea that my life would alter. I was at work when my phone rang, but I didn’t give it any attention. However, the voice on the other end said, “Hello, Ms. Daniels,” when I answered. From Stevens & Associates, this is Mr. Stevens. You’ve been mentioned in an inheritance, which is why I’m calling.”

I hesitated, perplexed. Willingness? Saying “I’m sorry,” “I believe you’re looking at the incorrect person. I’m not related to anyone.”

“No, this is correct,” the attorney reassured me. “It’s from a Mr. Greenwood.”

Since it wasn’t my parents’ last name and I didn’t have any living relatives—at least not that I knew of—that name had no meaning for me. “I don’t know any Mr. Greenwood,” I said.

“Well, he left something for you,” Mr. Stevens said. “I’d like you to come by my office on Friday to discuss the details.”

I was at a loss for what to think. Mr. Greenwood was who? He would leave me nothing, but why? At the age of 28, I had been an orphan without a family my entire life. My parents passed away in a car accident when I was three months old, so I grew up in the system.

I never had any grandparents, aunts, uncles, or other family members. Having grown up in an asylum without a family of their own, my parents were also orphans. For years, I had pondered whether I was the last surviving member of my family.

However, it was reported that I had received a gift from a stranger named Mr. Greenwood. I concurred.

I lived in foster homes until I was around twelve years old after my parents passed away. I wasn’t wanted for very long. I was a quiet kid, not a horrible one. By then, I had witnessed a lot: foster homes where the other children were cruel, foster families who merely wanted the state checks. I discovered that people can’t be trusted.

When I was ten years old, one of the older girls had advised me, “You’re better off keeping to yourself,” “People move in and out. You’ll see.

She was correct. Nobody stayed.

I stopped expecting people to love me or even stay with me when I was a teenager. I’d grown strong and self-sufficient. I must have been. Since school was my haven, I put a lot of effort into it, earning good grades while hoping to one day break free from the system.

I aged out of foster care when I was eighteen. Unlike some of the other children, I did not receive an emotional farewell or a farewell party. I simply packed a little bag of clothes and any money I had saved up from my part-time work and headed out.

I obtained a job as a barista and then started working at a local bookshop since I didn’t want to go to college. Although it wasn’t flashy, it covered expenses.

I only needed enough to get by, nothing more. But I was thinking about my folks throughout it all. What sort of individuals were they? If they had survived, would they have loved me?

I couldn’t quit thinking about that phone call when Friday finally arrived. Greenwood, Mr. Who was he? He had left me something, but why?

To confirm the appointment for the following morning, I gave the lawyer’s office a call. “Hi, this is Ms. Daniels,” I said, a little shaky. “I have a meeting today at one o’clock with Mr. Stevens.”

“Yes, Ms. Daniels, we’re expecting you,” reported the receptionist. “Mr. Stevens is ready to explain everything.”

I didn’t know how to react. A part of me was afraid of what I could find, and another part of me wanted answers. Perhaps this was an error. Perhaps my optimism was unwarranted.

My mind continued racing that morning as I sat in my tiny apartment, despite my best efforts to divert it. I searched for “Mr. Greenwood,” expecting to get some information. I only came up a few of obituaries and a few companies with that name. Nothing has anything to do with me.

In an attempt to determine whether I had ever heard that name, I spent hours searching through ancient recollections. I hadn’t. I even looked through some old pictures of my parents, but none of them offered any clues. It was illogical. How could I inherit anything from a total stranger?

I had the impression that I was entering a dream when I got to the lawyer’s office. The space was opulent, with framed diplomas on the wall, a large reception desk, and mahogany wood throughout. I was shown into a tiny, private office by a secretary.

I went in and Mr. Stevens got up. “Ms. Daniels, thank you for coming,” he added, holding out his hand. He was older, round-eyed, and had gray hair. He came across as professional but nice.

I gave him a handshake. I said, “Nice to meet you,” and took a seat. I tried to relax, but my hands felt clammy.

“So,” I said, “can you tell me who Mr. Greenwood is?”

Mr. Stevens opened a folder on his desk and nodded. “I need you to stay with me while I explain everything. It could be hard to hear this. My stomach fell when he peered at me over his glasses.

I was having trouble breathing. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Stevens inhaled deeply. “Mr. Greenwood,” he said, “was the man responsible for the car accident that killed your parents.”

“What?” When I realized what was happening, I let out a scream. As Mr. Stevens went on, I sat there with my heart racing.

The attorney stated, “Mr. Greenwood was devastated by what happened,” in a steady although solemn manner. “He had no intention of anyone dying that evening. It was an awful mishap. Your parents were in the wrong place at the wrong time, he had been drinking, and he had lost control of his vehicle.”

A lump started to grow in my throat. It was nearly unbearable to think of someone stealing my parents from me while driving under the influence.

“He was sentenced to 15 years in prison for manslaughter,” Mr. Stevens went on to say. But he never stopped worrying about your family while he was there. He was overcome by guilt. He made the decision to spend the remainder of his life making apologies in the best way he knew how after being freed.

In an attempt to comprehend what I was hearing, I blinked. “Making amends?” I muttered.

“Yes,” Mr. Stevens nodded in response. “He launched a modest business, moved into a little trailer, and sold his house. He saved every cent while working long hours. His company expanded over time, and he achieved considerable success. He did not, however, spend the money. Rather, he kept it in the hopes that one day he would be able to compensate you for the suffering he caused.

I shook my head, feeling confused and angry at the same time. I mumbled, more to myself than to Mr. Stevens, “Money can’t bring back my parents,”

“No, it can’t,” he said. But it was the least he could do, Mr. Greenwood thought. He believed that your parents would have wished for you to have financial stability. He has no offspring or other descendants. His only attention was on you.

As the lawyer continued, I sat in startled silence.

“Ms. Daniels, the inheritance is five million dollars. After dad was released from prison, he saved every cent for you. He tried to atone for that night for the rest of his life.

My thoughts were racing. Five million dollars. It seemed unreal. I wanted to accept it in part. I had been struggling all my life, after all. I had very little to my name. For me, this money might make all the difference. I could quit my job, pay off my bills, and perhaps even take a trip.

However, the idea made me feel ill in another way. The worst time in my life was connected to this money. Did he want me to live off his guilt for killing my parents? How could I believe that?

Mr. Stevens caught my attention. Silently, “I don’t think I can take it,” I said.

The attorney seems unsurprised. He said, “It’s a lot to process,” with kindness. “You don’t have to decide today.”

However, I was aware. I was aware beforehand.

I said, “I can’t take the money,” with more conviction this time. “I don’t feel comfortable. He is not someone I want anything from.

Mr. Stevens gave a nod. “I understand.”

After giving it some thought, I said, “But I also don’t want the money wasted. Is it possible to donate it to a charity? Perhaps something for orphans? That seems like the most effective use for it.

The lawyer gave a small smile, as though he had anticipated this. “Obviously. I can make that happen. Children raised in circumstances similar to yours can receive assistance from a number of foundations. I will ensure that it is donated to a worthy charity.

I experienced a slight wave of relief. Even though I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about Mr. Greenwood, at least I knew that all of this suffering may lead to something positive.

In the days following the meeting, I gave my parents more thought than normal. I felt oddly closer to the answers I’d been seeking, even though I still didn’t know all of them. I had always wondered what kind of people they were, and now I knew that, despite the tragedy, they had made an impression on someone.

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