When the will was read, my cousins were thrilled—they’d gotten Grandma’s house and her prized vintage car. Then there was me, the proud new owner of a decades-old sofa that smelled vaguely of mothballs and cat. The family couldn’t stop laughing. “Guess you drew the short straw,” my uncle joked. But I didn’t mind. That couch had been Grandma’s favorite napping spot, and to me, that made it special.
I took it to a furniture repairman, who took one look and sighed. “This is beyond saving,” he said. “The springs are shot, the fabric’s torn—it’s basically trash.” But I begged him to try, and reluctantly, he agreed.
The next afternoon, my phone rang. “You need to come to the shop immediately,” the repairman said, his voice urgent. When I got there, he led me to the dissected couch—and the piles of money hidden inside. $340,000 in cash and gold coins, tucked away where no one would ever think to look.
Tears filled my eyes as I realized what Grandma had done. While everyone else got the obvious treasures, she’d left me the real jackpot—along with the perfect reminder that she knew exactly what she was doing. That beat-up old couch was her final act of love, and now, it’s funding the dreams she always told me to chase.
