George’s absence lingered in our home, but what truly shattered me wasn’t his death—it was my stepdaughter Susan’s sudden demand for his assets. What followed was a battle marked by greed and betrayal, but in the end, an unexpected twist left Susan furious and me finally at peace.
Losing a loved one is never easy. Even now, I sometimes wake up clutching George’s favorite shirt, his familiar scent still faintly present. While the loss of my husband was hard, it wasn’t what devastated me the most—it was the way Susan acted afterward.
I’m Mariana, 57 years old, and for 25 years, I was married to the love of my life, George. He had a daughter, Susan, from his previous marriage. Although she wasn’t my biological child, I treated her like my own. She even called me “Mom,” and we shared what I thought was a genuine bond. But everything changed after George was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
When Susan got married, George and I were thrilled, hoping it would strengthen our family ties. However, after George’s diagnosis, Susan’s visits grew less frequent, from weekly to monthly, until they stopped entirely. She rarely saw her father, only calling occasionally to ask about his condition. One day, she asked something that left me speechless: “How much longer does he have?”
I clutched the phone tightly, my voice trembling. “Susan, your father is not a ticking clock.”
She responded coldly, “I’m just busy, Mom. I can’t visit that often.”
“Too busy to see your father?” I asked, disbelief flooding through me.
She sighed. “I’ll try to come by soon.”
But “soon” never came. And then, the day arrived that I had feared for so long. George passed away peacefully, and I was left to cope with the overwhelming grief. Susan didn’t attend the funeral. When I called her, she gave an excuse: “I just had my baby, Mom. The doctor advised against traveling.”
I swallowed my sorrow, trying to understand. “But Susan, this is your father’s funeral.”
“I can’t risk my baby’s health,” she said firmly, then hung up. I sat by George’s coffin, feeling utterly alone, wondering how our relationship had unraveled so quickly.
Six months after George’s passing, there was an unexpected knock at my door. Susan arrived with her husband Doug and a lawyer in tow. Without any preamble, Susan handed me a stack of papers. “Mom, we need you to sign these.”
I blinked, confused. “What are these for?”
Doug answered matter-of-factly, “They transfer George’s assets to us. Just sign.”
My heart pounded. “You expect me to just hand everything over?”
Susan rolled her eyes. “Dad’s assets, Mom. They belong to me now. Just sign the papers.”
Her entitlement took my breath away. George hadn’t left a will, and while I intended to ensure Susan was provided for, her cold demand struck a nerve.
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