I sat in stunned silence as my ex-wife, Susan, asked me to hand over the college fund I had saved for our late son, Peter. The money was meant for his future, but now that he was gone, Susan wanted to use it for her stepson, Ryan. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
As I looked around Peter’s room, I was reminded of the countless memories we had made together. His medals, books, and unfinished sketch brought back a flood of emotions. I remembered the day he received his acceptance letter from Yale, and how proud I was of him. But most of all, I remembered the pain of losing him, and the struggle to come to terms with his passing.
Susan’s request was not only insensitive but also a clear indication of her lack of understanding of what it means to be a parent. She had abandoned Peter when he was just twelve, leaving me to raise him on my own. Now, she had the audacity to ask for his college fund.
I met Susan and her husband, Jerry, at a coffee shop to discuss the matter. But as soon as they brought up the topic, I knew that I had to stand my ground. I told them that the money was for Peter, and that I would not let them use it for their own benefit.
The conversation quickly turned heated, with Susan and Jerry trying to justify their request. But I was not having it. I reminded them of the times they had neglected Peter, and how they had never shown any interest in his life. I told them that they had no right to claim his legacy.
As the argument escalated, I realized that I had to take a stand. I told Susan and Jerry that I would not give them the money, and that I would do everything in my power to protect Peter’s legacy.
The confrontation left me shaken, but it also gave me a newfound determination. I decided to use the college fund to fulfill Peter’s dreams, even if it meant doing it without him. I booked a trip to Belgium, a place Peter had always wanted to visit. As I walked along the canals, visited museums, and sampled Belgian beer, I felt Peter’s presence with me. I knew that he was smiling down on me, proud of the fact that I had stood up for him.
As I sat by the canal on my final night in Belgium, I took out Peter’s picture and showed it to the world. “This is for you, son,” I whispered. “We made it.” For the first time in months, the pain in my chest subsided, and I felt a sense of peace. Peter may be gone, but his legacy lived on, and I would do everything in my power to protect it.
