When I turned twenty-one, my life took an unexpected turn. That day, as I celebrated my birthday with my parents, a FedEx delivery man arrived at our doorstep. Little did I know that this delivery would change everything.

Excitedly, I signed for the package and opened it to find a letter from a probate lawyer. It turned out that I had inherited a country house in Virginia from a woman named Mrs. Gloria LeFevre. The strange thing was that she shared the same surname as my father. Was she possibly his estranged mother?

Curious and determined to uncover any family secrets, I shared the news with my parents. My father’s face displayed a flicker of fear before he dismissed the inheritance as a con. Something didn’t add up, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this story.

Driven by curiosity, I visited the lawyer mentioned in the letter. He informed me of the conditions attached to the inheritance: I had to reside in the house for at least three months before I could sell it. To verify my residence, I would need affidavits from the neighbors, which meant getting to know the community.

The lawyer also revealed that the house was valued at over two million dollars. The thought of what I could do with that kind of money filled my mind with possibilities – paying for my college education, starting my own business, and even buying a home!

Ignoring my father’s protests, I packed a few belongings into my car and set off for Smithfield, Virginia. As I arrived at the house, I was awestruck. It resembled something out of a movie, a beautiful antebellum mansion straight out of “Gone with the Wind.”

Inside, the house was immaculate, as if someone had been taking care of it. In the dining room, there was an envelope addressed to “Miss Julia LeFevre.” Trembling with anticipation, I opened it and discovered a letter from my grandmother, Gloria.

In her heartfelt letter, my grandmother revealed that she was my father’s mother and that she had made a difficult decision that led to my parents keeping her away from me. She also disclosed that I had a twin sister named June, who had suffered a spinal injury during birth and was unable to walk.

My parents had decided to have June institutionalized, but my grandmother stepped in and took guardianship. She found loving neighbors who adopted June and provided her with a happy life. My grandmother’s ultimate hope was to reunite me with my sister.

Overwhelmed with this newfound knowledge, I ran to the house next door, where June was waiting for me in a wheelchair. As we embraced, I knew that I had found the missing piece of myself. My sister, my twin, my other half.

Since then, my mother has been visiting regularly and building a relationship with June. She is slowly breaking free from my father’s dominance and knows she has a place with us whenever she is ready to make her final decision.

As for my father, he refuses to meet June, and I can’t help but wonder if his bitterness is what he truly deserves.

With my sister by my side, I have gained not just a valuable inheritance but a newfound sense of love and family that I never thought possible.