But just as quickly as I felt joy, my mother crushed it. She informed me that I wouldn’t inherit the car after all. She decided to sell it and divide the money among my sisters, cousins, and me, reasoning that it was only fair. My heart sank as I realized my grandpa’s cherished car would be sold to the highest bidder. I spent the rest of the day in my room, struggling with the wave of emotions.
Despite my pleas, my mother refused to change her mind. She eventually sold the car for $70,000, and I watched helplessly as the buyer drove it away. In that moment, I made a vow to get the car back, no matter what. Over the years, my relationship with my mother grew strained.
My sisters harbored jealousy over the inheritance, though it made sense to me—after all, I was the one who spent every weekend with Grandpa, not them. I worked hard, earned my license, and pursued my passion for engineering. I eventually graduated at the top of my class and landed a prestigious job.
At 27, I finally had the means to fulfill the promise I had made a decade earlier: to reclaim my grandpa’s Chevy. I tracked down the man who bought the car and contacted him. He was a kind person who shared my grandpa’s love for vintage cars. After some conversation, he agreed to let me visit and see the car. When I arrived, I was overwhelmed with emotion. The car looked as if it had just rolled off the showroom floor, thanks to the owner’s careful preservation. After some negotiation, I bought the car back for $80,000, more than it was originally sold for, but worth every penny. Driving it home was a dream come true.As I drove, I noticed the ashtray and opened it, smiling at the memory of finding candy there as a child. The tray was empty, but something caught my eye—a piece of paper tucked beneath the removable part of the ashtray.
