08/05/2025
When my ex-wife demanded that the money I saved for our late son be given to her stepson, I thought grief had dulled my hearing. But as I sat across from her and her smug husband, their audacity crystal clear, I realized this wasnāt just about money ā it was about defending my sonās legacy. I sat on Peterās bed, and the room was too quiet now. His things were everywhere. Books, medals, and a half-finished sketch heād left on the desk. Peter loved to draw when he wasnāt busy reading or figuring out some complicated problem that made my head spin. āYou were too smart for me, kid,ā I muttered, picking up a photo frame from his nightstand. He had that crooked grin, the one heād flash whenever he thought he was outsmarting me. He usually was. This picture was taken just before my smart boy got into Yale. I still couldnāt believe it sometimes. But he never got to go. The drunk driver made sure of that. I rubbed my temples and sighed. The grief hit me in waves, like it had since November. Some days, I could almost function. Other days, like today, it swallowed me whole. The knock on the door brought me back. Susan. Sheād left a voicemail earlier. āWe need to talk about Peterās fund,ā sheād said. Her voice was sweet but always too practiced, too fake. I didnāt call back. But now, here she was. I opened the door. She was dressed sharp as always, but her eyes were cold. āCan I come in?ā Susan asked, stepping past me before I could answer. I sighed and motioned toward the living room. āMake it quick.ā She sat down, making herself at home. āLook,ā she said, her tone was casual, like this was no big deal. āWe know Peter had a college fund.ā I immediately knew where this was going. āYouāre kidding, right?ā Susan leaned forward, smirking. āThink about it. The moneyās just sitting there. Why not put it to good use? Ryan could benefit.ā āThat money was for Peter,ā I snapped. My voice rose before I could stop it. āItās not for your stepson.ā Susan gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. āDonāt be like this. Ryan is family, too.ā I couldnāt believe what I was hearing. āFamily? Peter barely knew him. You barely knew Peter.ā Her face reddened, but she didnāt deny it. āLetās meet for coffee tomorrow and discuss it. You, Jerry, and I.ā That evening, the memory of that conversation lingered as I sat back down on Peterās bed. I looked around his room again, my heart aching. How did we get here? Peter had always been mine to raise. Susan left when he was 12. She didnāt want the āresponsibility,ā as sheād called it. āItās better for Peter this way,ā sheād said like she was doing us both a favor. For years, it was just me and Peter. He was my world, and I was his. Iād wake up early to make his lunch, help him with homework after school, and sit in the stands cheering at his games. Susan didnāt bother. Sheād send a card for his birthday, sometimes. No gifts, just a card with her name scrawled at the bottom. Thatās what made the one summer with Susan and Jerry so hard. Peter wanted to bond with them, even if I didnāt trust it. But when he came back, he was different. Quieter. One night, I finally got him to talk. āThey donāt care about me, Dad,ā heād said softly. āJerry said Iām not his responsibility, so I ate cereal for dinner every night.ā I clenched my fists but didnāt say anything. I didnāt want to make it worse. But I never sent him back. Peter didnāt mind, or at least he never showed it. He loved school, and he loved dreaming about the future. āOne day, Dad,ā heād say, āweāre going to Belgium. Weāll see the museums, the castles. And donāt forget the beer monks!ā āBeer monks?ā Iād laugh. āYouāre a little young for that, arenāt you?ā āItās research,ā heād reply with a grin. āYaleās going to love me.ā And they did. I remember the day the acceptance letter came. He opened it at the kitchen table, his hands shaking, and then he yelled so loud I thought the neighbors might call the cops. Iād never been prouder. Now, it was all gone. That night, I barely slept, preparing for the conversation with Susan. The next morning, I walked into the coffee shop, ā¦ (continue reading in the 1st comment)
