The divorce papers came out of nowhere. Michael claimed he wasn’t happy anymore, and I believed him—until I saw him weeks later, flashing cash like a millionaire.
This was the same man who’d counted pennies for groceries. Now, he wore designer watches and drove a car worth more than our old apartment. One day, he arrogantly tossed a $100 bill my way. I was about to crumple it up when I recognized the tiny heart I’d drawn in the corner.
My heart stopped. That money was from my grandfather.
Years earlier, he’d tried to give me his savings, but I refused, not wanting to take his hard-earned money. To make him laugh, I’d doodled on one of the bills. Now, it was in Michael’s possession.
I confronted Harrison, Grandpa’s lifelong friend, who told me the truth: My grandfather had given Michael the money to hold for me, trusting him to do the right thing. Instead, Michael kept it and walked away.
Devastated but determined, I hired Logan, a lawyer who fought fiercely for me. We confronted Michael, and under legal pressure, he confessed. He agreed to repay the money, though it would take time.
A year later, I opened an animal shelter in my grandfather’s memory. Logan, who’d stood by me through it all, became more than just my attorney.
That $100 bill stays with me always—proof that even in betrayal, love finds a way back.
