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And Amber?
She pretended to care. But her eyes always told the truth.
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Martin’s sister treated grief like it was a show—something to analyze. She’d tilt her head just so, judging whether our pain was too much or too little.
She came often after Robert di:ed, but never to help. Never asked how we were. She just sat in our living room with too much perfume and judgment in her gaze, sipping tea and scanning the family photos like she expected us to forget who was missing.
So when we hosted Martin’s birthday last week—just close family—I should’ve known better than to relax.
“We’ll keep it simple,” I told Martin. “Dinner, cake. Nothing heavy.”
“If you’re sure,” he said, softly. “Then that’s perfect.”
We spent the morning cooking. The house filled with scents—lamb, sweet and sour pork, rosemary potatoes. Jay brought his signature lemon tart. Amber brought her superiority.
Her seventeen-year-old son, Steven, brought his phone and zero manners.
Robert always helped with the cake. He’d climb his little stool beside me, pressing candy decorations into frosting with sticky fingers, humming his school songs.
This year, I did it alone. Triple chocolate and raspberry. Their favorite.
I lit the candles. Jay dimmed the lights. The singing was gentle, like we were afraid joy might crack from the weight of remembering. I saw a flicker of happiness on Martin’s face.
Then Amber cleared her throat.
She set down her wine glass like she was making a speech.
“Okay, I can’t stay silent anymore. Martin, you need to hear me out. How long are you planning to just let that college fund sit there?”
Everything stopped.
My heart pounded once—slow and heavy.
Amber kept going.
“It’s clear you’re not having another kid. Two years and nothing? I mean, Clara, you’re not exactly young anymore. Meanwhile, Steven’s about to graduate. He needs that money.”
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I looked around, praying someone would intervene. Martin sat frozen. His face was unreadable now—shut down.
Steven stayed glued to his phone.
Jay’s fork hit the plate with a sharp sound. Then he slowly stood.
“Amber,” he said, calm but firm. “You want to talk about that account? Let’s talk.”
Amber blinked, clearly not expecting resistance.
Jay turned to her, expression cold and controlled.
“That fund was created for Robert. Just like we made one for Steven. Equal contributions for both grandsons. Because fairness matters.”
Steven looked up. Amber stiffened.
“But you emptied Steven’s,” Jay said. “Took it all when he was fifteen to fund a Disney vacation. You said it was for memories. I didn’t argue. But don’t pretend Clara and Martin have something your son didn’t.”
Amber’s face turned red.
“That trip meant the world to Steven.”
“And now you want a second chance?” Jay didn’t raise his voice, which somehow made it sting more. “That fund was built for a future—not a vacation. Clara and Martin added to it themselves, year after year.”
He turned to Steven. “If he’d shown real drive, we’d support him. But he skips classes, lies about schoolwork, and lives on TikTok. His grades are terrible, and you keep making excuses. You’re not helping. You’re holding him back.”
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