— The main part of the inheritance… — the notary adjusted his glasses and looked at the documents — will go to Anna Kovács.

A heavy silence filled the room.

Marta slowly sat down on a chair.

— Excuse me… what do you mean by “the main part”? — she whispered.

László Farkas raised his head sharply.

Balázs put down his pen and stared at me in shock.

And I… I couldn’t breathe.

— The bank accounts, investments, land, and shares in the family business… — the notary continued calmly. — All of it belongs to the eldest daughter.

— What business? — I whispered.

Farkas sighed deeply.

— Didn’t your father ever tell you?

I shook my head.

— We started with a small workshop in the nineties. Then we expanded, invested in property, and grew. Your father was a visionary man.

My hands began to tremble.

All my life, I thought I was poor.

I worked without breaks.

Counted every dollar.

Denied myself everything.

And all this time…

— There are more than three hundred million forints in the accounts, — the notary said quietly.

Marta covered her face.

— Oh my God…

Balázs murmured:

— So… you’re rich?

I jumped to my feet.

— No! — my voice broke. — I didn’t know anything about this!

— Your father didn’t want you to come back for money, — Farkas said. — He wanted you to return for love.

Tears filled my eyes.

I remembered the freezing winters in my rented room.

The hunger.

The exhaustion.

The sleepless nights.

He knew it all.

And stayed silent.

— Why didn’t he help me? — I whispered.

The notary gently handed me an envelope.

— Because he left you this.

I opened it with trembling hands.

Inside was a letter.

“My dear Anna,

If you are reading this, I am no longer here.

Forgive my silence.

I was afraid you would come back for money, not for me.

I wanted you to be strong.

Independent.

I thought about you every day.

Every single day.

I am proud of you.

Your dad.”

I couldn’t continue.

I burst into tears.

Fifteen years of pain.

Fifteen years of silence.

Fifteen years of loneliness.

And all of it… out of love.

After the notary left, we sat quietly for a long time.

— Anna… I didn’t know, — Marta said softly.

I nodded.

— I believe you.

Balázs hugged me awkwardly.

— You’re not leaving again, are you?

I smiled through my tears.

— No. I’m staying.

A month later, I moved back home.

I renovated the workshop.

Started a small family business.

Helped my family.

But most importantly, I found myself again.

That day, I understood:

I wasn’t poor because I lacked money.

I was poor because of fear.

Because of pride.

Because of silence.

We lost fifteen years.

But we were given a second chance.

It’s just a pity that Dad didn’t live to see me finally come home.