George’s absence lingered in every corner of the house, his presence wrapped in the fabric of the old shirt Mariana clutched each night. His scent had begun to fade, but the memories refused to let go. Yet, as painful as losing him was, it wasn’t his death that shattered her completely—it was what his daughter, Susan, did afterward.
Moving on after losing a loved one is never easy. Sometimes, I still hear George’s voice in my head, as if he’s right beside me, whispering the same loving words he always did. I wake up in the middle of the night, gripping his favorite shirt, letting the soft fabric soak up my silent tears. But in the midst of my grief, what my stepdaughter did… it broke me in ways I never thought possible.
I’m Mariana, 57 years old. For 25 wonderful years, I was married to the love of my life, George. He had a daughter, Susan, 34, from a previous marriage.
Susan and I had always shared a good relationship. She called me “Mom,” and I embraced her as my own. I had never been able to have children myself, and she filled that void in my heart. When she got married, George and I were overjoyed. I thought of her as my own daughter.
But things changed when George was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Susan’s visits, which used to be warm and frequent, became rare. First, she visited once a month. Then, she stopped coming altogether. Her calls became less about checking on her father and more about something else entirely.
One day, she called with a question that turned my stomach. “How many more days does he have left to live?”
I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. “Susan, your father is not a package with an expiry date!” I snapped, my voice trembling.
“I just need to know, Mom. I have a lot on my plate right now, and I can’t visit often. You understand, right?”
“Too busy to see your dying father?” I asked, my heart sinking.
She sighed, clearly irritated. “I’ll try to visit soon, okay?”
But she never did.
Then, the day came—the day I had been dreading. The hospital called, and just like that, my world collapsed. George was gone.
Through the pain and loss, I held onto hope that Susan would come to his funeral. But she didn’t. When I called her, her excuse was already prepared.
“Mom, you know I just had my baby last month. The doctor advised against traveling. I can’t risk my baby’s health. You understand, don’t you?”
I swallowed hard. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you want to say goodbye?”
“I can’t risk it, Mom,” she repeated, her tone detached. “I hope you understand.”
I didn’t. But what choice did I have?
Six months passed. The pain hadn’t eased, but at least I had some quiet. Until the knock on my door shattered it.
Susan and her husband, Doug, stood outside, flanked by a stern-faced man in a suit. Without even a greeting, Susan walked in.
“Mom, we need you to sign some papers,” she said briskly.
I frowned. “What papers?”
Doug shoved a thick stack at me, including a blank page. “Just sign them. It’s for transferring Dad’s assets into our names.”
I felt like I had been slapped. “Excuse me? What are you talking about?”
Susan sighed dramatically. “Dad’s assets, Mom. His money, his house, the properties. They belong to me now. We’re just making it official.”
I stared at her, my hands shaking. “No. Get out of my house. Now.”
Susan’s face darkened with fury. “You can’t do this! You’re not even my real mother!”
Her words sliced through me like a blade. “How can you say that after all these years?”
“Because it’s the truth! Stick to your boundaries and hand over my father’s assets!”
My blood boiled. “Your father would be heartbroken to see you like this. I won’t let you bully me into giving you something you don’t deserve. Now get out!”
Doug sneered. “Sign the papers, lady. We’re not leaving until you do.”
“Then you’ll be waiting a long time,” I shot back. “Now get out before I call the police!”
My neighbor, having heard the shouting, stormed in. “You heard her! Get lost!” he barked, physically escorting them out.
As Susan left, she shrieked, “This isn’t over, Mariana! You’ll regret this!”
For weeks, Susan bombarded me with calls and messages. Finally, exhausted and desperate for peace, I met with my lawyer. I decided to give her what she wanted. But neither of us knew the truth yet.
A week later, Susan stormed back into my home, shaking with rage. “HOW DID YOU DO THIS?” she screamed, waving a legal document in my face.
“What’s the problem, dear?” I asked, a strange calm washing over me.
“Three thousand dollars and Dad’s old Mustang?!” she shrieked. “Where’s everything else?!”
I took the paper from her and read it. According to George’s legal records, everything—our house, the SUV, the farmhouse—had been transferred to my name years ago. The only thing left in George’s name was $3,000 and his car.
Susan’s face contorted with rage. “You’re lying! This can’t be true!”
“Oh, but it is, dear,” I said softly. “You wanted your father’s assets. And you got them.”
Susan’s screams echoed through the house, but I felt nothing but peace.
I decided then and there—I was done. I sold the house, the SUV, the farmhouse. Everything. With the money, I bought a beautiful villa in a place I had always dreamed of living.
One day, a call from a friend back home confirmed what I had expected. “Mariana, Susan tried to sue you.”
I sighed. “Let me guess. She lost?”
“Yep. Everything was in your name!”
I laughed. “Of course.”
Weeks passed, and I finally felt free. But then, another phone call shattered my peace. A man’s voice came through the line. “Mrs. Anderson? Susan wants to meet you.”
I shivered. “No. I have nothing more to say to her.”
“But she insists—”
“Tell Susan she got what she wanted. This conversation is over.”
I hung up, staring out at my new life. For so long, I had lived in the past, holding onto the pain. But George had protected me, even in death. Now, I had a fresh start. And I wasn’t about to let anyone take that away from me.
I closed my eyes and whispered, “Thank you, George. I’ll live the life you wanted for me.”
