When I remarried, I knew life would change, but I never imagined my new wife would target the trust fund left by my late wife for our daughters. Edith’s money wasn’t for anyone else—it was her legacy for our girls. When Gaby, my new wife, thought she could pressure me into giving her access, she was in for a rude awakening.
Sitting in my study one evening, I held a photo of Edith and our daughters, taken during one of our happiest moments—a beach vacation before cancer cruelly stole her from us. Her radiant smile lit up the frame, and her joy seemed to echo in the room. I ran my fingers over her image and whispered, “I miss you, Ed. The girls are growing up so fast—you’d be so proud of them.”
A soft knock broke my reverie. My mother poked her head in, her face full of concern. “Charlie, it’s been three years. You can’t keep living in the past. The girls need a mother figure.”
I sighed, setting the photo down. “We’re doing fine, Mom.”
She wasn’t convinced. “What about Gabriela from work? She’s kind, she’s a single mom—maybe she’s what your family needs.”
A year later, Gabriela wasn’t just a suggestion—she was my wife. She had slipped into our lives with ease, charming my daughters and bringing a sense of warmth I hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t the same as it was with Edith, but it was something good. Or so I thought.
One day, as we were cleaning up after dinner, Gaby cornered me in the kitchen. Her tone was syrupy sweet, but her words cut deep. “Charlie, we need to talk about the girls’ trust fund.”
I froze, my coffee mug halfway to my lips. “What about it?”
She rolled her eyes, dropping the pretense. “Don’t act like you don’t know. Edith left quite a sum for your daughters, didn’t she?”
My stomach churned. I had never mentioned the trust fund to her. “That money is for their future—college, starting their lives.”
Her smile tightened. “And what about my daughters? Don’t they deserve the same opportunities?”
I set the mug down, my hands shaking with controlled anger. “That money is Edith’s legacy for her children. It’s not mine to give.”
Her expression darkened. “So you’re saying my girls don’t matter as much? That we’re not really a family?”
“You know that’s not true,” I countered. “I’ve treated your daughters like my own.”