Dad and Kids
“Dad, you should really start thinking about what to do with the house.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well… if something were to happen to you—God forbid—it’s better to sort everything out ahead of time. So there’s no confusion later. You know?”
He lowered his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard something like this. But it was the first time it had been said straight to his face. Plainly. Without hints. Without gentleness.
“Don’t take it the wrong way, Dad,” they added quickly. “We just want everything to be clear. So no one gets more than anyone else. And so no outsider shows up later claiming something.”
There it was. The real fear wasn’t losing their father. It was losing his property. That house.
But to him, that house wasn’t just walls and bricks. It was his life. It was where he watched his children grow up. Where he spent sleepless nights with his wife, pacing the floor with a crying baby. He worked overtime, saved every dollar, denied himself so much—not to build an asset, but to build a home.
And now… They were looking at him like the owner of something that needed to be divided.
“So you’re really in a hurry to know what I’ll leave you?” he asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“No, Dad,” they said. “It’s not about greed. We just want to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” he interrupted quietly. “For the possibility that I might live longer than you expect?”
Silence fell heavy, like a stone.
He slowly stood up, picked up an old photo of his wife, looked at it, and said softly—but firmly:
“Your mother and I gave you everything. We never asked for gratitude or rewards. We only wanted you to grow into decent people—honest, kind, with open hearts. And now I see that to you, we’re no longer parents. We’re living inheritance.”
He paused, took a breath, and continued: “I intend to live the rest of my life the way I choose. If tomorrow I decide to sell this house, I’ll sell it. If I decide to give it away, I will. Because I built it. With my own hands. With my own work.”
And as he walked toward his room, he added: “The only inheritance I truly gave you is how you were raised. If that isn’t enough, then not even ten houses will save you.”
Moral
Inheritance is not something you ask for.
Those who count their parents’ property while their parents are still alive have already forgotten who they are. They’re no longer focused on what they were given—but on what they can take.
Adapted from the article shared by Motorland on Wednesday 31 December 2025.
All pictures are for illustration purpose only.
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