'My brother and I always had a tense relationship. Then we saw our mum's will.'

As told to Ann DeGrey.

My brother Davey* and I didn't really become close until we were in our 30s. He's four years older than me and he was always a bit wild. By the time I was finishing school, he was already drifting in and out of trouble, thanks to dodgy friends, drugs and run-ins with the cops. Mum worried endlessly about him, but he didn't seem to care.

But later in life, he got his act together, and we started talking regularly. It wasn't just family small talk, but deep conversations. He was a fantastic uncle to my two sons, and he'd settled down somewhat, had two kids of his own, and that softened him a bit. I wanted to believe we were finally building the sibling bond we'd missed as kids.

I was always closer to Mum and I realise now how that looked to him. But the truth is, I was the one who was there. When our Dad died, I was there for her. Then, when her health suffered, I took her to the doctor, got her prescriptions and helped her declutter the house when she refused to move into something smaller.

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I didn't do it to earn any "brownie points". I did it because I loved her, and she needed me.

But Davey didn't visit much. He'd show up every now and then, but he'd disappear again for months. Even when Mum was so sick with cancer in the last two years of her life, I was the one at the hospital, holding her hand through treatments.

Davey visited her in the hospital a couple of times, and he never stayed long. Mum didn't say much about it, but I could tell it hurt her. She'd always wanted a son, and it wasn't until she was nearing the end of her life that she realised it was her daughter who was standing by her.

When Mum died last year, it was quiet and peaceful, just me sitting by her bed. I called Davey straight away, and we cried together. I thought maybe this would bring us closer again. But I was wrong.

The will came as a shock to both of us. She left the house to me but, to my brother, she left her old coin and stamp collection, something he used to love when he was a kid. It wasn't worthless, but it was nowhere near the value of the house. I felt dreadful when I saw it in black and white. It didn't feel right. So after the house sold, I split the money down the middle. Half to Davey and half to me. I didn't want anything more than fairness.

But he didn't see it that way.

First, he accused me of lying. Then, he accused me of manipulating Mum. He thought I'd talked her into rewriting the will when she was too weak to know what she was doing.

None of that is true. She made her decisions months before she died, when she was still thinking clearly. She used a solicitor, and she knew what she wanted. I'd explained this to Davey over and over again as I showed him the paperwork. I reminded him that Mum tried for years to bring him back into her life, that she loved him, even when he made it very difficult. But he won't listen to me.

He's convinced that I put Mum up to it; cutting him out of the will. So even though I've given him half of what was supposed to be mine, he's now cut me off. There hasn't been a text or a phone call in seven months now. And when I sent him his half of the money, he only acknowledged it by sending me a thumbs up emoiji!

This has caused me so much stress because I know I didn't do anything wrong. After Mum died, he was the only close family I had left. And now, he's just… gone.

I keep reminding myself that I did the right thing. I honoured Mum's final wishes, and I was generous when I didn't have to be. But it still hurts.

The stamps and coins are still in the attic of his house, from what I heard from his wife. He hasn't touched them but, maybe one day he will. I'm hoping that one day he'll see them as not just old collectables, but the last piece of her she left just for him.

I hope and pray that time will soften Davey's anger and that he will send a text soon; or maybe he'll just show up at my door, unannounced, looking awkward as always, but willing to talk.

The author of this story is known to Mamamia but remained anonymous for privacy purposes.

Feature image: Getty.