When I remarried, I knew life would change, but I never expected my new wife to go after the money my late wife had left for our daughters. It was meant for their future, not hers. She thought she could pressure me, but what happened next would be a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget.
Tears filled my eyes as I clutched a photo of Edith, my late wife, and our daughters at the beach. “I miss you, Ed,” I whispered, running my fingers over her face in the picture. “The girls are growing up so fast. You’d be so proud.” Her vibrant smile, stolen too soon by cancer, looked back at me, a bittersweet reminder of the life we had shared.
My thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock. My mother peeked in, concern etched on her face.
“Charlie, honey, it’s been three years. You need to start living again. The girls need a mother figure.”
I sighed, setting the photo down. “Mom, we’re managing. The girls are doing fine.”
“They’re getting older,” she pressed, sitting beside me. “You’re not getting any younger, either. What about that woman from your office? Gabriela?”
I rubbed my temples, trying to push away the impending headache. “Gaby? She’s just a coworker.”
“A single mother, like you’re a single father. Maybe it’s time to think about it—for the girls’ sake.”
Her words lingered long after she left, echoing in my mind. Maybe it was time to move forward.
One year later, Gaby had become a part of our lives. She entered like a whirlwind, and before I knew it, we were married. It wasn’t the same as with Edith, but it was… comfortable.
“Dad! Watch me!” my youngest called, attempting a cartwheel in the yard.
I clapped, forcing a smile. “Great job, sweetheart!”
Gaby sidled up beside me, linking her arm with mine. “You’ve raised wonderful girls, Charlie. You’ve done an amazing job.”
“Thanks,” I replied, suppressing the guilt that always seemed to follow compliments like that. “I’m trying my best.”
As we headed inside, something about the way she had said it nagged at me, but I shrugged it off, determined to make this new chapter work.
That was until Gaby cornered me in the kitchen, her tone unusually sweet. “Charlie, we need to talk about the girls’ trust fund.”
I froze, my coffee cup halfway to my lips. “What trust fund?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she snapped, dropping the pretense. “I heard you talking to your financial advisor. Edith left a nice little nest egg for your daughters, didn’t she?”
My stomach churned. I had never mentioned the fund to her. “That money’s for their future, Gaby—for college, starting their lives—”
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