My new wife insisted that I use the money my late wife left for our children on her daughters.

 

I rubbed my temples. “Gaby? Mom, she’s just a coworker.”

“And a single mother, like you. Think about it, Charlie.”

Her words lingered. Maybe she was right.

A year later, Gaby and I were married. It wasn’t the same as Edith, but it was nice.

“Dad! Watch this!” my youngest called.

Gaby linked her arm through mine. “They’re wonderful girls, Charlie.”

“Thanks,” I said, guilt gnawing at me.

Later, Gaby cornered me. “Charlie, we need to talk about the girls’ trust fund.”

I froze. “What trust fund?”

“Don’t play dumb. I heard you on the phone. Edith left a nest egg, didn’t she?”

My stomach churned. “That’s for their future.”

“And what about my girls? Don’t they deserve the same?”

I kept my voice steady. “We are one family, but that money is Edith’s legacy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So your dead wife’s wishes matter more than your living family?”

I sighed. “This isn’t up for debate.”

Gaby stormed off. That night, I made a loud phone call: “I’d like to start a new account—for my stepdaughters. From our joint income.”

Gaby’s face twisted in anger. “And Edith’s money?”

“Untouched. We build together, not take what isn’t ours.”

Her resentment lingered. “You’re choosing them over us.”

“I’m honoring my daughters’ future.”

The tension between us never fully faded. Months later, as we watched our kids play, she muttered, “It could’ve been better if you’d listened to me.”

“No, Gaby. It would’ve been unfair.”

She stormed off. Sadness and relief washed over me. I’d made my stance clear—Edith’s legacy was untouchable.

Watching my daughters laugh, I knew I’d done the right thing.