On the day my mother passed away, the three brothers cleaned the house and discovered three old blankets, identical to each other, folded carefully and stored on top of the closet. My older brother and the second complained that taking them home would only take up space and that they had no value. I, sadly, decided to take them all. But to my surprise, my four-year-old daughter pointed out one of the blankets and said: ""Dad, look... the blanket is moving!"" My mother di.ed … See more

 

“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 morning in late autumn, as gently as an oil lamp slowly going out. Throughout her life, she worked tirelessly and left no fortune, only a small, dilapidated house and a few old belongings.

The funeral was simple. My two older brothers and I—the eldest brother, the second brother, and I—sat down and talked about how to divide the few things that remained.

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Couch

sofa

bed

In the small room, apart from an old wooden wardrobe, there was nothing of value. Only three worn wool blankets that my mother had carefully folded. I stared silently, my heart heavy. For me, those blankets were my entire childhood. But my older brother mocked:

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

The second added:

“Exactly, they’re not worth a cent.” Whoever wants them, take them. I’m not going to carry trash.

Their words hurt me deeply. Had they forgotten those winter nights when the whole family slept together and Mom covered each of us with those blankets while she shivered in her old patched coat?

I pressed my lips together and said,

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

The eldest waved his hand:

“Whatever you want, trash after all.”

The Secret Between the Blankets