When my father passed away, I never imagined that my entire world would be turned upside down so quickly. My name is Dawn, and I lost everything after his death—my home, my family, and even the last illusion that my sister ever cared about me. But what I didn’t realize was that my father had seen it all coming, and he had left me a secret that would change everything.

I had always known that Charlotte, my older sister, didn’t care much about me. But I never thought she’d throw me out onto the street just two weeks after our father’s funeral. For as long as I could remember, it had been just the three of us—Dad, Charlotte, and me. Well, mostly just Dad and me.

Charlotte was 35, but she had never truly been part of our family. She lived in Dad’s house, but it was never really her home. She was always out—partying, hanging with friends, chasing after the next “big thing.” She would come home only when she needed something, especially when her bank account was running low.

Meanwhile, I was 17 and had never known life beyond those walls. I had been Dad’s shadow, following him everywhere, helping with repairs, and making dinner when he got home from work.

“Homecooked meals are the way to go, Dawn,” he would say. “Doesn’t matter how tired you are, you should always make something for yourself.”

“Do noodles from a packet count?” I had asked once, and he had just laughed.

I often wondered if Charlotte resented me. She was already eighteen when I was born—a legal adult with her whole life ahead of her. Meanwhile, I was the surprise baby that came after, the one my mother didn’t even bother sticking around for. But Dad? He adored me.

“Dawn, you were the dawn of a new beginning, my love,” he would say. “The best surprise of my life.”

Maybe that was why Charlotte acted the way she did. By the time I was old enough to really understand her, she had already pulled away. She never treated me like a sister—more like an inconvenience. She never read me bedtime stories, never played games with me. Even when Dad took us for ice cream, she barely looked up from her phone.

But still, I thought she cared. I thought she’d be there when it mattered. I was wrong.

Two weeks after Dad’s funeral, we were in the lawyer’s office. Charlotte was dressed to impress but barely looked sad. If anything, she seemed bored. She checked her nails as we waited for the will to be read.

“The house goes to Charlotte,” the lawyer said.

I felt my stomach twist, but I didn’t argue. Why would Dad do this?

“And to you,” he turned to me, “your father left this.”

He handed me a small box. I knew what was inside before I even opened it—Dad’s old, scratched watch. The one that had been on his wrist for as long as I could remember.

Charlotte snorted. “Seriously? His watch?” She laughed. “Even when dead, Dad’s still playing favorites.”

I ignored her. My fingers traced the worn leather strap. It smelled like him. I didn’t care about the house—I just wanted my dad back.

For a few more days, Charlotte and I lived under the same roof. We barely spoke. I stuck to my routine—school, work, home—anything to avoid dealing with her. Then, one night, I came home from work and found my things packed by the door.

“This is it!” Charlotte said with a smug smile. “Our paths split here, Dawn. I need you to leave.”

“What?” I blinked. “Charlotte, I have nowhere else to go.”

“Not my problem!” she chirped. “Figure it out.”

My hands shook as I grabbed my phone and called our lawyer, Matthew. I told him everything.

He laughed. “Come to my office tomorrow. Your father predicted this.”

I barely slept that night. The next morning, I dragged myself into Matthew’s office. He slid a folder toward me.

“Seven years ago, your father inherited almost two million dollars from a distant relative. He split it between you and Charlotte.”

“She gets a share too?” My heart sank.

“Yes, but on one condition: Charlotte must share the house with you. If she refuses, she gets nothing.”

I sat up straighter. “If she refuses, I get everything?”

“Exactly.”

Then he handed me a letter. My dad’s handwriting covered the page.

“Dawn, I know Charlotte. I know what she’ll do. But you are smarter than her. The money is in a safety deposit box. Use it wisely. Love, Dad.”

“I don’t know the code,” I whispered.

Matthew smiled. “The watch.”

I flipped it over. On the back were tiny numbers—faint, but clear. The code.

Charlotte had the house, but also all its debt. And she had just kicked out the one person who could save her.

A few days later, Charlotte called. I let it ring. Then I answered.

“You knew, didn’t you?” she snapped. “The lawyer called me. The house has debt—thousands of dollars. And you… you have the money, don’t you?”

I leaned back, twirling Dad’s watch. “I might. But we don’t have a good history, do we?”

Silence.

“You have to help me!” she finally said.

I smiled. “I would have, Charlotte. If you’d been nicer to me.”

Then I hung up.

A few weeks later, I had a cozy studio apartment near my school and work. Charlotte? I didn’t know. But when I passed our old house, a SOLD sign was in the yard.

I should have felt bad. But I didn’t. It wasn’t home without Dad.

And even now, he was still looking out for me.