The money gave me more than comfort—it gave me peace. I bought back my home, restored my garden, even traveled to places I had only ever dreamed of. But it wasn’t the millions that mattered. It was justice.
My daughter, on the other hand, lost everything—the boyfriend, the mansion, and worst of all, her children. They came back to me, their laughter filling the house that had once , resonated with loneliness.
Even now, I sometimes hear her voice in my memory: “old hag.” But the words no longer sting. Because I know the curse wasn’t mine. It was hers—her greed, her pride, her failure to love the very person who gave her everything.
I’m still here. Surrounded by my grandchildren. Living in warmth, dignity, and love. And above my fireplace hangs that old winning ticket in a frame. Not because of the millions it brought me, but because it reminds me:
In the darkest moment of my life, fate had already chosen sides. And my name had been written on the winning hand all along.
