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No one defended Amber. Not even Steven.
“This money isn’t a reward for existing,” Jay said. “It was for a child who dreamed big and worked hard. If Steven wants to go to college, he can apply for aid. Or get a job.”
He stared Amber down. “And you owe your brother and his wife an apology. You mocked their grief. You insulted their struggle. And I’ll be rethinking my will.”
Amber’s mouth tightened. She looked around, waiting for support. No one moved.
Then she muttered under her breath, “It’s not like anyone’s using the damn money.”
Something inside me snapped.
I stood.
“You’re right,” I said. “No one’s using it. Because it’s Robert’s. And what you just said? That erased him.”
She blinked. Shocked I’d spoken up.
“That money isn’t sitting there for someone else to claim. It’s a part of him. Of us. Every dollar came from birthdays, bonuses, coins we could’ve spent on better things. But we didn’t. Because we believed in his future.”
My voice trembled, but I kept going.
“If we’re lucky, maybe one day it’ll help his sibling. But for now? It stays. Untouched.”
Amber didn’t respond. She got up, grabbed her purse, and walked out. The front door closed quietly.
“And me?” Steven said. “Did she just forget I exist? Typical.”
“Don’t worry, honey,” I said. “Uncle Martin and Grandpa will get you home.”
“Just enjoy your dessert,” Jay said. “Chocolate cake and lemon tart tonight. Your mom needs time to think about her behavior.”
Martin reached for my hand, holding it tightly.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You did the right thing.”
“I hated saying it.”
“I know,” he whispered. “But it needed to be said.”
Delicious Indian Dishes You Have To Try At Least Once
For illustrative purpose only
Later, after the dishes were done and the house quiet, my phone buzzed. A text from Amber.
“You’re so selfish, Clara. I thought you loved Steven like your own. Guess not.”
I stared at the message, then deleted it without replying.
Because love isn’t about guilt. It’s not transactional. And it’s definitely not something you weaponize when you don’t get your way.
That fund wasn’t just money. It was lullabies. Science kits. Dog-eared pages in astronomy books. Glue-covered soda rockets launched with wild hope.
It was Robert’s dream, frozen in time.
To take it now would be like losing him all over again. And I’ve already buried more than any mother should.
The next morning, Martin found me sitting on the floor in Robert’s room. I’d pulled down his old telescope. Still smudged with his fingerprints.
Martin sat beside me without a word, hand warm on my back.
We sat in the silence—the kind that holds, not judges.
Sometimes, the only way to honor someone is to protect what they left behind.
Robert may be gone, but that fund keeps his name alive.
It carries our hope.
And it holds everything Amber never understood.
One day—if fate allows—it may help another child reach for the stars.
But not today.
And not for someone who treats grief like a forgotten checkbook.
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