“The money isn’t much, but I want my children to live with righteousness and harmony. Don’t make my soul sad in the afterlife.”

My mother passed away one quiet morning in late autumn, as gently as an oil lamp flickering out. She had worked tirelessly all her life and left behind no fortune—only a small, worn house and a few old belongings.

The funeral was simple. My two older brothers and I—the eldest, the second, and me—sat together to discuss how to divide what little remained.

In the tiny room, apart from an old wooden wardrobe, there was nothing of real value. Only three worn wool blankets that my mother had folded with care. I stared at them silently, my heart heavy. Those blankets carried my whole childhood. But my eldest brother scoffed:

“Why keep these torn blankets? Better to throw them away.”

The second added mockingly:

“Exactly. They’re not worth a cent. Whoever wants them can take them. I’m not carrying trash.”

Their words cut deep. Had they forgotten those cold winter nights when we huddled together and Mom covered us one by one, shivering in her patched coat?

I pressed my lips together and said quietly,

“If you don’t want them, I’ll take them.”

The eldest waved his hand dismissively.

“Whatever. They’re trash anyway.”

The Secret Between the Blankets

The next day, I brought the blankets home to my small apartment. I planned to wash them and keep them as keepsakes. But when I shook one out, I heard a dry clack!—something hard had fallen to the floor. My heart skipped a beat. I bent down and found a small brown cloth pouch sewn into the torn lining.

With trembling hands, I opened it. Inside were several old savings books and a few ounces of gold, carefully wrapped. The total amount exceeded a hundred thousand dollars. I gasped.

Mom, who had lived so simply all her life, without a trace of luxury, had quietly saved every penny—hiding her fortune in those old blankets.

Tears poured down my face. Memories flooded back: the days she sold vegetables at the market, the times she rummaged through her worn purse to give me lunch money. I had always thought she had nothing… but all along, she was saving it for us.

When I checked the other two blankets, I found two more bags. In total—nearly three hundred thousand dollars.

The Conflict

It didn’t take long for the news to spread. One night, my two brothers came to my house, their faces dark with anger.

“Are you planning to keep it all?” the eldest shouted. “That money is Mom’s inheritance! Why did you hide it?”

“I didn’t hide it,” I said calmly. “I planned to tell you on the anniversary of her death. But remember—you both despised those blankets and wanted to throw them away. If I hadn’t taken them, this money would’ve been lost forever.”

The second brother muttered bitterly:

“Be that as it may, it’s Mom’s property. It should be divided equally. Don’t think you can keep it all.”

I stayed silent. Deep down, I knew they were right—it was our mother’s money—but I also remembered how they had treated her. They never gave her anything, while I, though poor, sent her what I could each month. When she was sick, I was the one who stayed by her side. And now…

Arguments dragged on for days. The eldest even threatened to take me to court.

The Last Letter

While checking the bags again, I found a small folded piece of paper at the bottom. It was written in Mom’s shaky handwriting:

“These three blankets are for my three children.

Whoever still loves me and remembers my sacrifices will understand.

The money isn’t much, but I want my children to live with righteousness and harmony.

Don’t make my soul sad in the afterlife.”

I clutched the note and sobbed uncontrollably. Mom had planned everything—it was her way of testing us.

I called my brothers. When they arrived, I placed the note in front of them. No one spoke. The room fell silent, broken only by quiet sobs.

My Decision

I took a deep breath and said gently:

“Mom left this for the three of us. I won’t keep anything for myself. Let’s divide it equally. But please remember—money matters, yes, but what she wanted most was for us to live in peace.”

The eldest lowered his head, his voice trembling.

“I… was wrong. I only thought about the money and forgot Mom’s words.”

The second’s eyes glistened.

“She suffered so much… and we never got the chance to thank her.”

We sat together in silence for a long time. Finally, we agreed to divide the money equally. Each of us took our share, carrying with it a piece of her love.

The Destiny of Each

My eldest brother—once stingy—changed completely after that. He used his share to pay for his children’s education and visits Mom’s grave every month, as if seeking forgiveness.

My second brother, always impulsive, softened. He donated part of his share to the poor, saying, “I want to earn merit for her.”

As for me—I saved my portion and used it to create a small scholarship fund in our hometown, named after our mother—the woman who had sacrificed everything in silence.

Epilogue

The three old blankets, once dismissed as rags, had hidden not only a fortune but an eternal lesson.
With her final act, Mom taught us to overcome greed and cherish the bond of family.

Now, every winter, I take out one of those blankets and cover my son with it. I want him to learn that the true value of life isn’t in money or inheritance, but in love, kindness, and unity.

Because only when we truly love one another are we worthy of being called our mother’s children.

Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.