My Late Mom Left Me a Trust Fund, but My Dad Took Money from It for His Stepdaughter — I Finally Retaliated

My mom was my everything, and when cancer took her, she left me memories and a lifeline — a trust fund meant for my future. When my dad greedily started using it for his stepdaughter, it felt like he was erasing Mom’s memory piece by piece. I couldn’t let him take what was left of her or me.

There’s this thing about losing someone you love — you carry the weight of it forever, even if it doesn’t show. I lost my mom to breast cancer when I was ten. One day, she was there, brushing my hair and humming to some old rock song, and the next, she was gone. Just like that.

A grieving young woman mourning before a loved one's grave | Source: Freepik

A grieving young woman mourning before a loved one’s grave | Source: Freepik

I remember our last conversation like it was yesterday. She was sitting on her hospital bed, her fingers weakly running through my hair.

“Promise me something, baby girl,” she whispered.

“Anything, Mom,” I said, trying to hold back my tears.

“Promise me you’ll never let anyone dim your light. You’re so special, Iris. So incredibly special.”

A sad woman sitting on a hospital bed | Source: Pexels

A sad woman sitting on a hospital bed | Source: Pexels

She didn’t leave me with much — just a few photos, the smell of her favorite vanilla perfume lingering on her scarves, and a trust fund she set up for me before she passed.

“This is for Iris,” she’d told my dad and my grandparents. “For her education and her future. Promise me she’ll always have it.”

They promised. My dad promised too. But promises don’t mean much when someone’s not around to hold you to them.

A trust agreement on a table | Source: Midjourney

A trust agreement on a table | Source: Midjourney

My dad remarried two years later. His new wife, Marianne, came with her own baggage: a twelve-year-old daughter named Emily.

I didn’t mind at first. Mom was gone, and I thought maybe this could be a new chapter.

But I quickly learned how things would work in our house: Emily first, Marianne second, Dad somewhere in the mix, and me? Not even in the picture!

An annoyed girl | Source: Pexels

An annoyed girl | Source: Pexels

It started small. Once, our fridge and shower broke at the same time. Dad took money from the trust fund without my permission to fix them.

“I’ll pay it back,” he said like it was no big deal. A week later, he bought Emily a MacBook for her birthday. On mine? A $100 gift card.

It wasn’t the money — it was the message.

Over the years, he kept dipping into the fund for car repairs, home renovations, and things that had nothing to do with me. “It’s just temporary,” he’d always say. But the withdrawals kept piling up, and the “temporary” excuses wore thin.

A frustrated teenage girl | Source: Pexels

A frustrated teenage girl | Source: Pexels

By the time I got to college, I didn’t need the money for tuition because of my scholarship. That didn’t stop him from finding new ways to use it, though. Every time I brought it up, he brushed me off. “Don’t stress, Iris. It’s safe.”

Safe. Right.

“You understand, don’t you, Iris?” That’s what he’d always say when something I needed got pushed aside for Emily. New clothes for her pageant? Sure. My vacation? Maybe next year. It stung, but I swallowed it down.

But the swallowing got harder.

I’ll never forget the day I realized how much of Mom’s trust fund was gone. It was late one night during my final year of college. I’d overheard Emily talking to her friends about how “Daddy” was covering the cost of her new car. My stomach twisted as I thought about the fund.

A delighted woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

A delighted woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

“Can you believe it?” Emily squealed through the thin walls. “A brand new BMW! Daddy said I deserve it for making it to nationals!”

My hands trembled as I sat at my desk, memories of Mom’s words echoing in my head: “This is for Iris. For her future.”

It had been years since I’d seen the account. My dad had told me not to “stress over it.” But now, something felt off, and I decided to check it.

I logged into the account, and my heart sank. The numbers didn’t make sense. Thousands were missing. Pageant fees. A water heater. Emily’s car. Every withdrawal was like a punch in the gut.

A woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels

A woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels

By the time I closed my laptop, my hands were shaking. This wasn’t just money. It was Mom’s legacy. She’d trusted Dad to protect it, and he’d drained it like it was his personal wallet.

I called my grandma the next morning.

“Sweetheart,” she said after I told her everything. “This has gone on long enough. You have to stand up to him.”

“I can’t breathe, Grandma,” I sobbed into the phone. “It feels like he’s erasing Mom piece by piece. Like he’s erasing ME.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered. “Your mother would be furious right now. She fought so hard to make sure you’d be taken care of.”

“I know,” I cried, my throat tight. “I trusted when he said he’d put the money back. But he’s only been draining Mom’s hard-earned money.”

A worried older woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

A worried older woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

“Your mother was a fighter,” Grandma added. “And so are you. It’s time to show them that.”

“I will when the right time comes,” I said, my heart heavy as I hung up.

It all came to a head a week later. Graduation was around the corner, and I was finally ready to celebrate after four years of sleepless nights and busted printer deadlines. I called Dad and told him I was graduating on December 20th. I could hear the pause on the other end of the line, long enough for my stomach to drop.

A woman calling her father | Source: Midjourney

A woman calling her father | Source: Midjourney

“Oh, December 20th?” he said finally. “That’s when Emily’s pageant is. We’ve already made plans.”

“You’re missing my graduation for a pageant?”

“Ah, c’mon, Iris. Graduation’s not a big deal. You’ll have more of those. But this pageant? It’s her chance to shine.”

I didn’t even realize I was gripping my phone so hard until my fingers started to hurt. “You’re kidding, right?”

A woman engrossed in a phonecall | Source: Pexels

A woman engrossed in a phonecall | Source: Pexels

I heard Marianne chime in, her tone dripping with condescension from the background. “Don’t be selfish, Iris. Graduations happen all the time. Emily’s pageant is once-in-a-lifetime.”

“Selfish?” I spat. “Dad, this isn’t about being selfish. This is about you choosing Emily over me. Again.”

“That’s not fair —” he protested.

“Not fair? You want to talk about fair? When was the last time you chose me? When was the last time you even saw me?”

A man on a phonecall | Source: Midjourney

A man on a phonecall | Source: Midjourney

“Of course I see you, Iris.”

“No, you DON’T!” The words burst out of me like a dam breaking. “You see Emily. You see her pageants and her dance recitals and her EVERYTHING. But me? I’m just the ghost in the corner. Mom’s leftover that you don’t know what to do with.”

“Iris, that’s enough!”

“No, it’s not enough! It’s never been enough!” I cried, years of hurt pouring out. “Do you know what Mom’s last words to me were? She made me promise not to let anyone dim my light. But you’ve been doing exactly that for years, Dad. Years!”

A furious woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

A furious woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

He sighed like I was being unreasonable. “We’ll celebrate when we’re back. I promise.”

The word “promise” hit me like a slap. “Your promises don’t mean anything anymore,” I whispered. “They haven’t since Mom died.”

I hung up without saying goodbye. My grandparents, at least, showed up for my graduation. Seeing their proud faces in the crowd made the day feel a little less lonely. They hugged me so tightly afterward, reminding me that someone still cared. I was happy, but I had one last thing to do.

A heartbroken woman | Source: Midjourney

A heartbroken woman | Source: Midjourney

The next day, I walked into Dad’s office with the account statements in hand. My stomach was doing backflips, but I couldn’t let that stop me.

“We need to talk,” I said, shutting the door behind me and dropping the papers on his desk.

Dad looked up from his computer, frowning. “What’s this?”

“The trust fund statement. Mom’s trust fund. The one you’ve been draining for years.”

His face paled, but he tried to play it off. “Iris, come on. Everything I’ve spent was for the family. You’ve never needed it. You had a scholarship.”

“That money wasn’t for the family,” I cut in. “It was for ME. For MY future. And you spent it on Emily. Don’t even try to deny it. The statements don’t lie.”

A stack of documents on a table | Source: Midjourney

A stack of documents on a table | Source: Midjourney

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” he stood up, his voice rising. “Being a father, trying to blend two families —”

“And you don’t understand what it’s like watching your father erase every trace of your mother!” I shot back. “That money was the last thing she could give me, and you treated it like your personal ATM!”

He leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening. “I did what I had to do.”

“No,” I said, standing my ground. “You did what was convenient for you. And now you’re going to pay it back. Every penny.”

His laugh was bitter. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll sue you.”

A woman crossing her arms and pointing her finger at someone | Source: Pexels

A woman crossing her arms and pointing her finger at someone | Source: Pexels

The room went silent. For the first time in my life, I saw real fear in his eyes.

“You wouldn’t,” he said finally.

“Mom always said I had her backbone,” I replied. “Maybe it’s time you remembered that.”

The fallout was as messy as I expected. My stepmom and stepsister called me, yelling through the phone. “How could you do this, Iris?” Marianne’s voice was shrill like I had personally burned their house down.

“Do what?” I said, gripping my phone tighter. “Stand up for myself? Demand the respect I’ve never gotten from you people?”

An annoyed senior woman | Source: Midjourney

An annoyed senior woman | Source: Midjourney

“Don’t make this about you,” she snapped. “You’re punishing us because we couldn’t be in two places at once. You know how much Emily’s pageant meant to her!”

“And my graduation didn’t mean anything to you,” I fired back. “I’ve had enough, Marianne. I’m done.”

“How dare you? After everything we’ve done for you?”

“Done for me?” I laughed hollowly. “What exactly have you done except try to replace everything about Mom?”

A young woman laughing | Source: Midjourney

A young woman laughing | Source: Midjourney

“I tried to be a mother to you!”

“No,” I snapped. “You tried to erase my mother. There’s a difference.”

She called me a “selfish” brat. But I didn’t back down.

Under the U.S. law, she and Dad had no leg to stand on. My grandparents helped me draft the legal documents, and by the time I handed them over, Dad knew he was out of options.

A month later, the money was back in my account. They’d taken out loans to do it, but that wasn’t my problem. I moved out the next week and settled into my grandparents’ house temporarily. It felt good to be somewhere warm and safe for once.

A woman with a suitcase and bag | Source: Pexels

A woman with a suitcase and bag | Source: Pexels

“You’ve always been stronger than you think, Iris,” Grandma said one night as we sat on the porch. She wrapped her cardigan around my shoulders, and it smelled like Mom’s vanilla perfume.

“I didn’t feel strong,” I admitted, staring at the stars. “I just felt angry.”

“Sometimes, anger is what we need to get moving,” she said with a smile. “Your mother… she knew this might happen, you know. That’s why she made us promise to watch over you.”

“She did?”

“Oh yes. She said, ‘My Iris might bend, but she’ll never break.’ She knew exactly who you were, sweetheart.”

I handed her a check the next day, a portion of the repaid money. She tried to refuse it, but I insisted. “You and Grandpa have done more for me than anyone else ever has. Please. Let me do this.”

A woman holding a check | Source: Midjourney

A woman holding a check | Source: Midjourney

She hugged me so tightly that I thought I might break. “We’re so proud of you. And your mom… oh, she would be over the moon.”

With the rest of the money, I enrolled in grad school and got my own apartment. It wasn’t fancy, but it was mine.

One night, as I unpacked some boxes, I came across an old photo of Mom and me. She was holding me in her lap, her smile soft and warm.

“I did it, Mom,” I whispered, running my fingers over the photo. “I kept my promise. I didn’t let them dim my light.”

A woman holding an old photograph | Source: Midjourney

A woman holding an old photograph | Source: Midjourney

My phone buzzed with a message from Dad. But I didn’t open it.

Instead, I texted Grandma: “I think I’m finally free.”

Her reply was immediate: “You are, sweetheart. You are. Your mother is probably dancing in heaven right now.”

I set the phone aside and smiled, my eyes misty. For the first time in years, I felt like I was finally living for me. Living how Mom had always wanted me to… bright and unafraid.

An emotional young woman | Source: Midjourney

An emotional young woman | Source: Midjourney

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

Man Receives an Anonymous Package on the 1st Anniversary of His Wife’s Death—He Bursts Into Tears Upon Opening It

On the first anniversary of his wife’s passing, Samuel answered an unexpected knock at the door. The anonymous package he received held a mysterious blue scarf and a heartfelt note from his late wife that would reveal a deeply personal secret.

Samuel sat at the coffee table, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long gone cold. The morning sun filtered through the blinds, painting soft lines on the floor.

A serious man drinking coffee | Source: Midjourney

A serious man drinking coffee | Source: Midjourney

Before him lay a photograph of him and Stephanie on their wedding day. Her smile lit up the picture, just as it had lit up his life.

He picked up the photo and stared at it, his fingers brushing the frame. “It’s been a year, Steph,” he whispered. “Feels like yesterday. Feels like forever.”

A middle-aged couple on their wedding day | Source: Midjourney

A middle-aged couple on their wedding day | Source: Midjourney

The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Samuel sighed, setting the picture back down. The silence had become his constant companion. It wasn’t comforting. It was loud, echoing every memory and missed moment.

He leaned back, rubbing his temples. “I’m trying to move on,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. “But it’s hard, Steph. So damn hard.”

A sad man looking at the photo | Source: Pexels

A sad man looking at the photo | Source: Pexels

Just then, a knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts.

“Who on earth…” he mumbled, pushing himself up from the chair. He shuffled toward the door, his heart heavy with reluctance.

When he opened it, a young delivery man stood there, holding a plain brown package.

“Samuel?” the man asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” Samuel replied, his brow furrowing.

A delivery person | Source: Freepik

A delivery person | Source: Freepik

“This is for you. Anonymous sender.”

Samuel hesitated, then reached out to take the package. “Thanks.”

The delivery man gave a polite nod. “Have a good day, sir.”

Samuel closed the door and stood there for a moment, staring at the package. It wasn’t large, but it was heavy enough to pique his curiosity.

A man looking at a package in his hands | Source: Midjourney

A man looking at a package in his hands | Source: Midjourney

“What is this?” he muttered, carrying it back to the table. He sat down and ran his fingers over the paper, his heart picking up speed. Carefully, he peeled away the wrapping.

Inside was a long, soft, blue scarf. Samuel held it up, letting it unfold. The fabric felt warm against his skin, and the intricate patterns caught his eye.

“What in the world…” he murmured.

A blue scarf in a box | Source: Midjourney

A blue scarf in a box | Source: Midjourney

As he examined it, a small envelope fell out. His hands shook as he picked it up. He knew that handwriting.

“No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He opened the envelope and pulled out a letter.

“My dear Sam,

When we married, I wanted to make something special for you, something that would grow as our love did. Every time you told me you loved me, I knitted a row of a scarf. I wanted you to know that with every word, my heart grew, too.”

A woman knitting a scarf | Source: Midjourney

A woman knitting a scarf | Source: Midjourney

“What… how long is this?” Samuel muttered to himself.

Setting the letter aside, he gently picked up the scarf, stretching it out to its full length. He began to count the rows, his voice barely above a whisper.

“One… two… three…”

A man with a blue scar | Source: Midjourney

A man with a blue scar | Source: Midjourney

The rhythm of the numbers steadied him, pulling him into a trance. He counted every row, his mind filling with memories of the times he had told Stephanie he loved her. Over coffee in the morning. Before falling asleep at night. During a quiet walk in the park. In moments of laughter, and in moments of tears.

“…fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine…”

A happy couple in their living room | Source: Midjourney

A happy couple in their living room | Source: Midjourney

The numbers climbed higher, and with each one, Samuel felt his chest tighten. His fingers brushed over the stitches as he continued counting.

When he finally reached the end, he sat back, his voice shaking. “A thousand… over a thousand rows.”

He pressed the scarf against his chest, his heart aching. Each row represented a moment between them, a declaration of love that she had captured forever in the fabric.

A man clutching a scarf in his hands | Source: Midjourney

A man clutching a scarf in his hands | Source: Midjourney

But then, he noticed something strange. Near one end, the stitches changed. They were tighter, smaller, as though rushed. Samuel squinted, leaning closer. Woven into the fabric in faint white thread were the words:

“Look at the back of my drawer in our bedroom.”

Samuel’s heart pounded. His breath quickened. He looked toward the hallway, where their bedroom waited.

A serious man looking to his side | Source: Midjourney

A serious man looking to his side | Source: Midjourney

“Steph,” he whispered again, gripping the scarf tightly.

And then he stood, the scarf draped over his arm, and began to walk.

Samuel stopped just outside the bedroom door. His hand touched the doorknob, his heart pounding like a drum.

A half-open door with a glass doorknob | Source: Pexels

A half-open door with a glass doorknob | Source: Pexels

The room smelled faintly of lavender, her favorite scent. The sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating everything she had left behind. Samuel’s eyes settled on the bedside table, her drawer.

He moved toward it slowly, his fingers trembling as he reached out. “Back of the drawer,” he murmured, repeating her words.

A man looking though his bedroom drawer | Source: Midjourney

A man looking though his bedroom drawer | Source: Midjourney

The drawer slid open with a soft creak. It was filled with little things—her favorite lotion, an old paperback novel, a small box of jewelry. But as he reached toward the back, his fingers brushed against something unfamiliar.

It was an envelope. His name was written on it in Stephanie’s elegant handwriting.

Samuel sat down on the bed, holding the envelope in his hands. He hesitated, feeling the weight of whatever lay inside. Finally, he opened it.

A man reading a letter on his bed | Source: Midjourney

A man reading a letter on his bed | Source: Midjourney

“Sam,

I know you’re wondering why I had to leave you so soon. Life can be cruel like that. But there’s something you need to know—something I couldn’t tell you before I left.

I was pregnant.

We were going to have a baby, Sam.”

A serious woman writing a letter | Source: Midjourney

A serious woman writing a letter | Source: Midjourney

Samuel’s hands shook as he read the words. He stopped and pressed the letter to his chest, his tears spilling freely.

“Oh, Steph,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

He continued reading.

A man reading a letter | Source: Midjourney

A man reading a letter | Source: Midjourney

“I found out just weeks before my diagnosis. The doctors said the treatments would harm the baby, but I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone. So, I chose the treatments. I chose to fight, for us. But in the end, it wasn’t enough.

I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to carry that burden. But I hope you can forgive me and know that my choice came from love. You gave me the happiest years of my life, and I wanted to give us a chance at more.”

A sad woman rereading her letter | Source: Midjourney

A sad woman rereading her letter | Source: Midjourney

Samuel sat on the edge of the bed, the scarf still draped across his lap. He stared at Stephanie’s letter, her words echoing in his mind.

I was pregnant.

A devastated man holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

A devastated man holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

The revelation hit him like a wave, pulling him under. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands covering his face. The grief swelled, but this time it wasn’t the hollow ache he had carried for a year. It was sharper, layered with love and loss, raw and undeniable.

“She chose me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She always chose me.”

A crying middle-aged man holding a photo | Source: Pexels

A crying middle-aged man holding a photo | Source: Pexels

The scarf, now folded neatly in his lap, seemed heavier than before. Samuel ran his fingers over it, feeling the texture, the time, the care.

“You never stopped loving me, not even at the end,” he murmured.

A man with a blue scarf on his lap | Source: Midjourney

A man with a blue scarf on his lap | Source: Midjourney

The weight of her sacrifice and the life they could have had together pressed down on him, but beneath it was a flicker of something else. Gratitude. Gratitude for the love they had shared, for the moments she had fought to give him.

Samuel stood, clutching the scarf to his chest. He walked to the window and looked out at the world beyond the glass. The sunlight seemed a little brighter, the air a little lighter.

A man in front of his window | Source: Midjourney

A man in front of his window | Source: Midjourney

He unfolded the scarf and wrapped it around his neck, the soft fabric brushing against his skin. It felt like a hug, a reminder that Stephanie was still with him in some way.

“I’ll keep my promise, Steph,” he said quietly. “I’ll live. I’ll love. I’ll find joy again for both of us.”

The words felt heavy, but they also felt right.

A smiling man in a blue scarf | Source: Midjourney

A smiling man in a blue scarf | Source: Midjourney

Samuel turned back to the bedroom. He picked up the letter and carefully tucked it back into the envelope. He placed it in the drawer where he’d found it, next to her favorite book. It wasn’t a farewell—it was a way of keeping her close while letting himself move forward.

Back in the living room, he glanced at the photograph on the table. Her wide smile and her warm eyes were urging him on.

A smiling woman in her garden | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman in her garden | Source: Midjourney

Samuel picked up the picture frame and held it for a moment. “Thank you, Steph,” he whispered. “For everything.”

The house felt different now. The silence wasn’t as oppressive; it was calmer, almost comforting. Samuel knew there would still be hard days ahead, moments when the loss would feel fresh and sharp. But for the first time in a year, he felt something else: the possibility of healing.

A smiling man in his living room | Source: Midjourney

A smiling man in his living room | Source: Midjourney

He walked to the front door, opening it wide. The crisp morning air greeted him, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers. He stepped outside, the scarf snug around his neck, and looked up at the sky.

“I love you, Steph,” he said softly, his voice carried away by the wind.

And as he stood there, bathed in the sunlight, Samuel felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.

A smiling man standing on his porch | Source: Midjourney

A smiling man standing on his porch | Source: Midjourney

Related Posts

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


*