I thought my father’s will would secure my future. Then the lawyer read a name I didn’t recognize. My grandmother’s fury was immediate. Who was Brenna, and why did my father leave her everything? And what secret was behind it?
My life used to always be governed by rules. Every morning, a strict voice echoed through the house.
“Sit up straight, Mona. Don’t slouch. A lady always keeps her composure.”
That was Loretta—my grandmother, my guardian, my shadow. After my mother died, she took over, raising me in her grand image.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Everything had to be perfect. My grades, my posture, and even the way I folded napkins. It was exhausting, but I tried. I always tried.
When my father passed away, Loretta quickly turned her focus to what mattered most to her. Control. But I remember the day my life changed. We were sitting in the lawyer’s office.
“You’ll invest the money wisely, Mona,” she had said that morning, already outlining how we would rebuild the family’s legacy. “Your father worked hard for this.”
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I believed her. For years, Loretta’s confidence had been unshakable, her plans infallible. So, as we sat in that cold office with its stale coffee, I felt sure of my future.
“As per your father’s wishes,” he lawyer, glancing at the will, “his estate and money will go to Brenna.”
“Who!?” The word escaped my lips before I could stop it.
The lawyer paused. “Brenna is your father’s other daughter.”
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“Sister? I… I have a sister?”
“Impossible!” Loretta’s sharp voice ricocheted off the walls. “This must be a mistake! My son couldn’t leave everything to some stranger!”
“It’s no mistake, ma’am,” the lawyer said. “Your son provided clear instructions. Brenna inherits the house, accounts, and stocks.”
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“What?” Loretta’s voice rose to a shrill pitch. “You’re telling me that child, someone we don’t even know, takes it all?”
I barely heard them. A sister. A sister I never knew existed. Loretta’s hand gripped mine, pulling me back.
“We’ll fix this, Mona. We’ll find this Brenna and make sure she does what’s right.”
Her words felt suffocating, but I nodded. Defying Loretta had never been an option.
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***
In a few days, I arrived at Brenna’s house due to Grandma’s instructions. The small house leaned slightly to one side, its peeling paint flaking like sunburned skin.
The front door creaked open before I even knocked, and Brenna stood there, smiling wide. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, her fingers twisting together in a rhythm that seemed more instinct than thought.
“Hi!” she said, her voice bright, almost musical. “I saw you coming. Did you park by the mailbox? It’s wobbly. I keep meaning to fix it, but…”
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She trailed off, her eyes darting to the corner of the doorframe. She tapped it three times with her knuckles.
“Uh, yeah,” I replied awkwardly. “I’m Mona. Your sister.”
“Come in!” she interrupted, stepping aside but not making eye contact. “Watch the floorboard near the kitchen. It squeaks.”
Inside, the house smelled faintly of clay and earth. The narrow hallway opened into a kitchen dominated by a long workbench covered in half-finished pottery pieces, jars of paint, and tools I didn’t recognize.
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Brenna rearranged a set of mismatched vases on the windowsill three times, muttering under her breath before nodding in satisfaction.
Then she turned back to me, her smile returning as if nothing had happened. “You’re my sister.”
“Yes,” I said slowly, unsure how to navigate her openness. “Our father… He passed away recently.”
Her smile didn’t falter. “What’s it like? Having a dad?”
“It’s… hard to say. He was kind. He cared. We were friends.”
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She nodded, her fingers twitching against her thighs. “I never met him. But I have his hands.” She held up her palms, showing faint traces of clay. “Mom always said so. Big hands, like him.”
Her sincerity was disarming. I’d expected resentment or at least suspicion, but instead, she radiated a quiet acceptance.
“Dad left me a gift,” Brenna said.
“A gift?” I repeated. “That’s… nice.”
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“Yes. He called it that. In the letter from the lawyer. Did he leave you a gift too?”
I hesitated, Loretta’s biting words ringing in my ears. “Not really. He didn’t…”
“That’s strange. Everyone should get a gift.”
I smiled. “Maybe.”
“You should stay for a week,” Brenna said smiling. “You can tell me about him. What he was like. What he liked to eat. What his voice sounded like.”
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“A week?” I asked, startled. “I don’t know if…”
“In return,” she interrupted, “I’ll share the gift. It’s only fair.” Her hands were twisting together as she waited for my response.
“I don’t know if I have much to say about him,” I said, though even as the words left my mouth, I felt the pang of their untruth. “But… okay. A week.”
Her face lit up. “Good. We can have pancakes. Only if you like them, though.”
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She turned back to her workbench, humming softly. I knew what her so-called “gift” was. At that moment, Loretta’s plan seemed simple. Too simple. But Brenna’s kindness was already complicating everything.
***
That week at Brenna’s house, I felt like stepping into a parallel universe, one where the world spun slower and expectations melted away. Everything about her life was so unlike mine.
Breakfast was no longer a croissant from the corner bakery paired with a sleek latte. Instead, it was simple—bacon, eggs, and a mug of tea served on paper plates.
“Easier this way,” Brenna said one morning. “No big cleanup. Time saved is time for pottery.”
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She had a way of saying things so directly, without the filters most people wore. It was disarming.
But her habit of setting and resetting the plates on the porch rail, always ensuring they were aligned right, made me watch her closely. Each ritual told a story.
“Let’s walk to the lake,” she suggested after breakfast on my second morning.
She slipped out of her sandals, leaving them neatly by the porch steps, and stepped into the grass barefoot.
“It’s better like this.”
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Dew clung to the grass, cold and sharp against my feet, as I followed her. She led the way, occasionally pausing to touch the leaves or to rearrange a small pile of stones along the path.
Those small, deliberate actions seemed to calm her like they were as necessary as breathing.
At the lake, she crouched by the edge, dipping her fingers into the water. “You ever just sit and listen?”
“To what?” I asked, standing stiffly behind her.
“Everything.”
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Brenna’s studio became the heart of our days. The air inside smelled earthy and damp, the scent of clay and creativity.
She handed me a lump of clay on the third day. “Here. Try making something.”
My first attempt was a disaster. The clay slid through my fingers, collapsing into a shapeless blob.
“It’s terrible,” I groaned, ready to throw it aside.
“It’s not terrible,” Brenna’s hands moved gently as she began reshaping the clay, showing me the motions. “It’s just new. New things take time.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Her patience amazed me. Even when I spilled water on her workbench, smearing one of her finished pieces, she didn’t scold me. Instead, she carefully cleaned the mess.
Just as I started to relax, finally free from Loretta’s constant control, her calls became more frequent. It was as if she could sense the shift in me, the way I was beginning to breathe a little easier and live a little differently.
That night, her voice came through the line sharp. “Mona, what are you waiting for? This isn’t a vacation! You need to take action. She doesn’t know what to do with that kind of money.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
I stayed silent, but my grip on the phone tightened. I could feel her impatience boiling over.
“She’s naïve, Mona. You need to convince her to sign it over. If persuasion doesn’t work, then… Well, figure something out. Use her trust if you have to.”
Her words stung because they felt so wrong in Brenna’s world.
“I don’t know, Grandma. It’s not as simple as you think.”
“It’s exactly that simple,” she barked back. “Don’t get distracted by her little quirks. Focus, Mona.”
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I wanted to argue, to tell her that maybe Brenna deserved more than she realized, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I mumbled something vague and ended the call. For the first time in my life, I started questioning my own motives.
***
The following day, Loretta arrived unannounced, her sharp presence tearing through the peace like a storm. Her heels clicked on the uneven floor as she stepped into the house.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“This is where you’ve been hiding?” she snapped, her eyes darting over Brenna’s neatly cluttered pottery studio. “How can you stand this mess, Mona? And you,” she turned to Brenna, “you have no right to what’s been given to you.”
Brenna froze, her hands trembling as she rearranged vases on the workbench, muttering, “Gift, gift,” under her breath.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Loretta ignored her, turning to me. “Mona, end this nonsense. She doesn’t deserve your father’s legacy. She’s…” Loretta’s voice grew venomous, “not like us.”
“Gift,” Brenna said louder, pointing toward a small cabinet in the corner. Her rocking grew more pronounced, her fingers twisting at her apron.
I hesitated but opened the cabinet. Inside was a stack of old letters, their edges worn and faded. Each one was addressed to my father. My breath caught.
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“What are those?” Loretta demanded.
“These are from Brenna’s mother,” I said, flipping through them. “Did you know?”
Loretta paled, but then her face hardened. “I did what I had to! Do you think I’d let some woman trap my son with a broken child? When she came looking for him, I told her to stay away. I refused to let her and her daughter become part of this family.”
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Her words were cruel, and Brenna clung to the table, her wide eyes fixed on Loretta.
“You destroyed this family,” I said, my voice trembling. “You never even told him he had another daughter.”
Loretta’s bitter laugh filled the room. “He found out! That’s why he changed his will. And now you’re letting her take everything!”
“Dad left a gift,” Brenna said softly. “He wanted me to have it.”
“This isn’t about money, Grandma. And I won’t let you take anything else from her.”
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Loretta stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
I turned to Brenna. “I’m so sorry. I love you, sis.”
“Do you want pancakes?” she suddenly asked as if nothing happened.
“Oh, I really do!”
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We ate on the porch as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in soft hues. From that day, we started building a life together.
I helped Brenna grow her pottery studio. We repaired the house, filled it with flowers, and I rediscovered my love for painting by decorating her creations.
Word spread, and soon people came from other towns to buy our work. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. For the first time, I wasn’t living to meet someone else’s expectations. I was living for us—Brenna and me.
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It’s very strange :v
Dating someone new can be a fun, exciting, and sometimes perplexing experience. While everyone brings their unique quirks and habits into a relationship, there’s something particularly strange yet fascinating about dating a right-handed man. You might not think much about hand dominance at first, but as time goes on, you start noticing small but undeniable patterns that make you go, “Wait… this is weird.”
Let’s dive into the funny, unexpected, and sometimes frustrating moments that happen when you’re in a relationship with a right-handed guy.
The Right Hand Takes Over Everything
The first thing you’ll notice when dating a right-handed man? Everything is done with his right hand. And we mean everything.
- Eating? Right hand.
- Texting? Right hand.
- Brushing his hair? Right hand.
- Holding your hand? Of course, right hand.
It’s almost as if his left hand doesn’t exist—unless he’s forced to use it. This can sometimes lead to hilarious struggles, like when he has to hold something heavy in his left hand or try using scissors designed for lefties.
And if you’re left-handed? Get ready for accidental elbow wars at the dinner table!
The “Right-Handed Dominance” in Everyday Life
Once you start noticing his right-hand bias, you can’t unsee it. Everything he does is slightly tilted in favor of the right side:
- Sitting position? He leans slightly to the right.
- Pocket placement? His phone, wallet, and keys are all in the right pocket.
- High-fives? Always with his right hand—never the left.
Video : Why Are Most People Right-Handed? The Strange Truth You Never Knew!
Even when he gestures while talking, his right hand does all the work, while his left remains awkwardly hanging by his side. It’s a subtle but hilarious habit that you can’t ignore once you start seeing it.
Right-Handers and Their Love for “The Right Side”
Ever noticed that right-handed people naturally prefer the right side of things? A right-handed boyfriend will almost always:
✔ Pick the seat on the right side when given a choice.
✔ Turn right first when navigating through a store.
✔ Use his right foot first when stepping into a new place.
And if you ever switch things up—like sitting to his right instead of his left—he might hesitate for a second before adjusting. It’s a minor detail, but it reveals how deeply ingrained hand dominance is in everyday habits.
The Struggle with Sharing Space
If you’re a left-handed person dating a right-handed man, get ready for some unexpected frustrations.
- Eating next to each other? Your elbows will constantly bump.
- Cooking together? You’ll fight over which side of the counter you can use.
- Writing side by side? Get ready for an awkward “whose hand crosses over first” situation.
It’s like living in a mirrored world where one person always feels like they’re in the way. But over time, you both learn to adjust, and these little quirks actually become endearing parts of your relationship.
How a Right-Handed Man Holds You
Even the way he hugs and holds you can be influenced by his dominant hand!
- Hand-holding? He instinctively reaches for your left hand with his right.
- Hugging? His right arm naturally wraps around your shoulders.
- Carrying things for you? It’s almost always in his right hand.
And if he’s ever forced to use his left hand for something, he’ll grumble about how unnatural it feels—as if his left hand is just there for decoration.
Right-Handers in Competitive Games
Dating a right-handed gamer, athlete, or sports enthusiast? Get ready for some intense right-side dominance.
- Throwing a ball? Always with the right hand.
- Holding a racket? Right hand.
- Pressing buttons on a controller? Right fingers do all the work.
If you ever try to challenge him to switch hands, he’ll probably laugh it off—until he actually tries and realizes he’s completely useless with his left hand.
The Unintentional Right-Handed Bias in Driving
Here’s something weird you might notice when riding in a car with a right-handed man:
- His right hand is always the dominant one on the wheel.
- He adjusts the radio or air conditioning with his right hand.
- If he has to quickly react, his instinct is to turn to the right first.
Video : Scientists Explain Why Left-Handed People are Smarter than the Rest of us
And if he’s ever forced to steer with his left hand? He’ll complain about how weird it feels—even though both hands are technically the same.
The “Right-Handed Routine” in Daily Tasks
When living with a right-handed boyfriend, you’ll start seeing patterns in his daily habits that he doesn’t even notice.
- Putting on clothes? Always right arm first, then left.
- Tying shoes? Right shoe first, then left.
- Grabbing things? If he’s holding multiple items, he’ll naturally prioritize the right hand for important things.
It’s almost like his left side exists only for balance—but never for real work!
Final Thoughts: The Strange Yet Endearing Habits of a Right-Handed Man
Dating a right-handed man comes with a lot of subtle but hilarious observations. From his preference for right-side seating to his struggle with left-handed tasks, these quirks make you appreciate just how much hand dominance shapes everyday life.
While it might seem strange at first, these habits eventually become endearing parts of your relationship—little things that make you smile every time you notice them.
So, if you’re dating a right-handed man, pay attention to the small details—you might start seeing patterns you never noticed before! ❤️
Have you ever noticed these quirks in a right-handed partner? Share your experiences in the comments! 😊
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