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.
Susan’s face twisted with anger. “You’re not even my real mother!” she spat.
Her words hit me like a slap. Tears welled in my eyes. “After all this time, that’s what you think of me?”
“Just give me my father’s assets,” she demanded.
I felt my anger rise. “Your father would be heartbroken to see what you’ve become. Get out.”
Susan shouted insults, but I stood my ground. My neighbor, hearing the commotion, came over and escorted them out. As they left, Susan shouted, “This isn’t over, Mariana! You’ll regret this!”
Shaken, I collapsed on the couch, clutching George’s photo. Tears streamed down my face as I whispered, “Why didn’t you take me with you, George? I don’t know how to handle this alone.”
Susan’s messages continued, growing more aggressive with each one. Exhausted, I finally met with a lawyer, ready to settle things just to end the torment. But then, a revelation changed everything.
A week later, Susan barged into my home again, furious. “How did you do this? I only get $3,000 and an old car? Where’s the rest?”
I looked at her calmly. “What are you talking about?”
She waved the inheritance papers in my face. “Dad’s assets! This can’t be it!”
I smiled gently. “Years ago, George transferred all his major assets to me—the house, the SUV, the farmhouse. It’s all mine. He left you exactly what was in his name at the time of his death.”
Susan’s face reddened with rage. “This isn’t fair!”
I met her anger with calm. “You got what you asked for, Susan. Now, please leave.”
In the weeks that followed, I sold the house, the SUV, and the farmhouse. I moved away, bought a beautiful villa, and began a new chapter of my life—one filled with peace and possibility.
One day, an old friend called. “Mariana, Susan’s trying to start a lawsuit against you.”
I sighed. “And?”
“It’s already been thrown out. Everything was legally yours.”
Relief washed over me. I had finally found peace. Weeks passed, and I began enjoying my new life—traveling, making new friends, and embracing the future.
Then, one day, my phone rang again. It was a lawyer calling on Susan’s behalf. “She wants to meet with you.”
I shook my head. “No. Tell her I have nothing more to say.”
And with that, I closed the chapter for good. I had a new life, and I wasn’t going to let anyone take that from me. George had protected me in life, and now, in death, he had ensured I could move forward peacefully.
