When I remarried, I anticipated changes, but I never expected my new wife to target the money my late wife had left for our daughters. That money was meant for their future, not hers. She thought she could pressure me, but what unfolded would be a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget.
Tears filled my eyes as I held a photo of Edith, my late wife, with our daughters at the beach. “I miss you, Ed,” I whispered, tracing her face in the picture. “The girls are growing up so fast. You’d be so proud.” Her radiant smile, lost too soon to cancer, was a bittersweet reminder of our life together.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. My mother peeked in, concern etched on her face.
“Charlie, it’s been three years. You need to start living again. The girls need a mother figure.”
I sighed and set the photo down. “Mom, we’re managing. The girls are doing fine.”
“They’re getting older,” she pressed, sitting beside me. “What about Gabriela from your office?”
“Gaby? She’s just a coworker.”
“A single mother, like you’re a single father. Maybe it’s time to think about it—for the girls’ sake.”
Her words lingered after she left, echoing in my mind. Perhaps it was time to move forward.
A year later, Gaby had become a part of our lives. It felt comfortable, even if it was different from what I had with Edith.
“Dad! Watch me!” my youngest called, attempting a cartwheel in the yard.
“Great job, sweetheart!” I clapped, forcing a smile.
Gaby linked her arm with mine. “You’ve raised wonderful girls, Charlie.”
“Thanks,” I replied, suppressing the guilt that came with compliments. “I’m trying my best.”
But something about her tone nagged at me, yet I brushed it aside, eager to make this new chapter work.
That was until Gaby approached me in the kitchen, her tone unusually sweet. “Charlie, we need to talk about the girls’ trust fund.”
I froze, my coffee cup halfway to my lips. “What trust fund?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she snapped, dropping the pretense. “I heard you talking to your financial advisor. Edith left a nice nest egg for your daughters, didn’t she?”
My stomach churned. I had never mentioned the fund to her. “That money’s for their future—college, starting their lives.”
“And what about my girls? Don’t they deserve the same?”
I set my mug down, trying to stay calm. “Of course they do, but that’s Edith’s legacy for our daughters.”
Her eyes narrowed. “We’re supposed to be one family now, Charlie. Or was that just talk?”
“That’s not fair. I’ve treated your daughters as my own.”
“Oh, please. If that were true, you wouldn’t be hoarding that money for your biological kids.”
The tension in the room was suffocating. I took a deep breath. “That trust fund isn’t up for debate. It’s for my daughters’ future.”
“So, Edith’s wishes are more important than your living family?” she spat.
“Don’t speak about her that way,” I warned, my voice low. “This conversation is over. That money is untouchable.”
Gaby’s face flushed with anger. “You’re impossible! How can you be so stubborn?”
In that moment, I realized the woman I thought I had married wasn’t the same person before me. A plan began forming in my mind.
The next morning, I called my financial advisor with Gaby within earshot. “I’d like to set up a new account for my stepdaughters, funded from our joint income.”
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