I was married at the age of 30, with nothing to my name in my name. My wife’s family wasn’t particularly well-off either; His father—the elderly Mr. Sharma—was about 70 years old, frail, quiet, and an ex-serviceman living on pension.
Soon after the wedding, he moved in with my wife and me and stayed with us until his last days. For 20 years, they did not pay a single rupee for electricity, water, food or medicine. They did not take care of the grandchildren, did not cook, or clean. Some even called him “the greatest freebie.”
I was annoyed many times, but then thought, “He’s an old man, my father-in-law; If I complain, who will take care of them?” But to be honest, I often had resentment inside. Sometimes I would come home tired from work, open the empty fridge, and watch them sip their tea in peace, as if they had nothing to do with it.
Then one day, he passed away—and I thought that was all over…
He died peacefully at the age of 89. No serious illness, no hospitalization. That morning, my wife brought him porridge and noticed that he was no longer breathing. I didn’t realize much at all—partly because they were old, partly because… I had become accustomed to his shadow-like presence in the house.
The funeral was simple. No one in my wife’s family was wealthy, so my wife and I took care of all the arrangements. Three days later, a man in a suit came to our door—and a glass of water fell from my hand.
He was a lawyer with a stack of files in his hand. After verifying my identity, he gave me a red folder and said:
“According to the will of the elderly Mr. Sharma, you are the sole heir to all his personal property. ”
I laughed lightly, thinking he was joking. “What property? He took full advantage of my family for two decades; He didn’t even have a pair of slippers. ”
But the lawyer solemnly opened one page after another:
A plot of 115 square metres of land in the heart of the city, transferred in my name two years ago.
A savings account of more than Rs 3.2 crore (about 3.2 crore Indian rupees), in which I am mentioned as a beneficiary.
A handwritten letter from the elderly Mr. Sharma, requesting the lawyer to keep him:
“This son-in-law of mine complains a lot, but he never starved me for 20 years and supported me. My daughter is lazy, and she took all the burden. I’ve lived a long life; I know who’s good and who’s not. He doesn’t have to take a loan from me, but I can’t die without leaving anything for him. ”
I stood motionless, tears welling up in my eyes, though I didn’t understand why.
It turned out that he wasn’t poor at all. The plot of land was his ancestral property, which he had kept completely hidden, and never uttered a word about it. The savings account was the money he had accumulated all his life from pensions and government benefits, with interest, untouched by a single rupee.
They decided to give it to me—the one who once thought of himself as a “freebies,” who even wanted him to leave home.
That night, I was sitting alone in front of his altar, lighting incense sticks. Looking at his smiling picture, I whispered:
“I was wrong, Dad.”
“You lived quietly all your life, never letting anyone be your debtor—not even the one who once considered you a burden.
