I knew things would change when I remarried, but I never expected my new wife to be after my late wife’s money. It was meant for our daughters’ future, not hers. She thought she could pressure me. What happened next would teach her a lesson she would never forget.
A tear escaped my eye as I clutched a photo of my late wife and our daughters at the beach. “I miss you, Ed,” I whispered, my fingers brushing over Edith’s face in the picture. “The girls… they’re growing up so fast. I wish you could see them now.” Her radiant smile shone from the photo, her eyes sparkling in a life that cancer had stolen far too soon.
A soft knock interrupted my memories. My mother peeked in, concern filling her eyes.
“Charlie, sweetheart, you can’t keep living in the past. It’s been three years now. You need to move on. Those girls need a mother figure.”
I sighed, placing the photo frame down. “Mom, we’re fine. The girls are—”
“They’re getting older!” she interrupted, sitting beside me on the couch. “I know you’re doing your best, but you’re not getting any younger. What about that nice woman from your office? Gabriela?”
I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache forming. “Gaby? Mom, she’s just a colleague.”
“And a single mother, just like you’re a single father. Think about it, Charlie. For the girls’ sake.”
As she left, her words echoed in my mind. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to move forward.
A year later, I stood in our backyard, watching Gaby interact with my daughters. She had come into our lives like a whirlwind, and before I knew it, we were married.
It wasn’t the same as with Edith, but it was… nice.
“Daddy, look at this!” my youngest called out, attempting a cartwheel.
I clapped, forcing a smile. “Great job, sweetheart!”
Gaby slipped her arm through mine. “They’re wonderful girls, Charlie. You’ve done a great job.”
I nodded, pushing down the guilt that always surfaced when she complimented my parenting. “Thanks, Gaby. I do my best.”
As we walked inside, something about Gaby’s words felt off. But I brushed it aside, determined to make this new family work.
Later, in the kitchen, Gaby approached me, her eyes gleaming with an expression I had never seen before.
“Charlie, we need to talk about the girls’ trust fund,” she said in a sugary voice.
I froze, my coffee cup halfway to my lips. “What trust fund?”
Gaby rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. I heard you on the phone with your financial advisor. Edith left the girls a nice sum, didn’t she?”
My stomach churned. I had never mentioned the fund to her. I never thought I would need to.
“That money is for their future, Gaby. College, getting started in life—”
“Exactly!” she interrupted. “And what about my girls? Don’t they deserve the same opportunities?”
I set my cup down, trying to remain calm. “Of course they do, but that money is Edith’s legacy for her children.”
Gaby’s eyes narrowed. “Her children? I thought we were a family now, Charlie. Or was that just talk?”
“That’s not fair,” I protested. “I’ve treated your daughters like my own from day one.”
“Like your own? Please. If that were true, you wouldn’t be hoarding money just for your biological kids.”
The room felt like a pressure cooker about to explode as I stared at Gaby, her words ringing in my ears.
I took a deep breath, struggling to stay calm. “Gaby, that fund is not ours to touch. It is for my daughters’ future.”
“So that’s it? Your dead wife’s wishes matter more than your living family?”
“Don’t you dare speak about Edith like that. This discussion is over. The money is not up for debate. Period.”
Gaby’s face flushed with anger. “You’re impossible! How can you be so stubborn?”
My jaw clenched as I fought to keep control. I barely recognized the woman standing before me—so different from the one I thought I had married.
A plan formed in my mind.
“Fine! You’re right. I’ll sort it out tomorrow, okay?”
Gaby’s eyes lit up, clearly thinking she had won. “Really? Are you serious?”
I nodded.
A smug smile spread across her lips. “Good. It’s about time you came to your senses.”
She spun on her heel and left the room, the slam of the door echoing through the house—a final punctuation to her tantrum.
I sank into a chair, rubbing my hands over my face. Gaby had shown her true colors, and now it was time for a hard lesson in respect and the dangers of entitlement.
The next morning, I made sure Gaby was within earshot when I called my financial advisor.
“Yes, I’d like to set up a new account,” I said loudly. “It’s for my stepdaughters. We’ll be funding it from our shared income going forward.”
I heard a sharp inhale behind me and turned to see Gaby standing in the doorway, her face twisted in shock and fury.
“What are you doing?” she snapped as I hung up.
“I’m setting up a fund for your daughters, just like you wanted. We’ll contribute from what we earn together.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And Edith’s money?”
“Remains untouched. That’s non-negotiable.”
“You think this fixes anything? This is an insult!”
“No, Gaby. This is setting boundaries. We build our future together, not by taking what isn’t ours.”
She jabbed a finger into my chest. “You’re putting your daughters above us. Admit it!”
“I’m choosing to honor Edith’s wishes. And if you can’t respect that, then we have a serious problem.”
Gaby’s eyes filled with tears, but I couldn’t tell if they were real or manipulative. “I thought we were partners, Charlie. I thought what’s yours is mine.”
“We are partners, Gaby. But that doesn’t mean erasing the past or disrespecting Edith’s legacy.”
She turned away, her shoulders trembling. “You’re so unfair.”
As she left the room, I called after her: “Unfair or not. But one thing is for sure…”
…is certain: I will always protect my daughters and what belongs to them.”
Gaby stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples. The woman I had married had revealed a side of herself I could no longer ignore.
I wasn’t against supporting her daughters—I wanted them to feel welcome and secure. But taking what wasn’t meant for them? That was crossing a line.
Over the next few days, tension filled the house like a thick fog. Gaby avoided me, barely speaking unless it was necessary. The warmth that once existed between us had faded into cold indifference.
Then, one evening, she confronted me again.
“Charlie,” she began, her voice deceptively calm. “I’ve been thinking… Maybe we rushed into this marriage. Maybe—maybe we want different things.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her carefully. “Maybe we do,” I admitted.
She swallowed hard, as if hoping I’d beg her to stay. But I wouldn’t.
“So… what now?” she asked.
“That’s up to you, Gaby. But if you’re here because of money, I think you already know your answer.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but I still couldn’t tell if they were genuine.
By the end of the week, Gaby had packed her things. She took her daughters and left, saying she needed “space to think.”
I didn’t try to stop her.
As I sat alone in the quiet house, I looked at the framed photo of Edith and our girls.
“I did what was right,” I whispered.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt peace.
