When my ex-wife demanded the money I saved for our late son be given to her stepson, I thought grief had dulled my hearing. But as I sat across from her and her smug husband, their audacity crystal clear, I realized this wasn’t just about money — it was about defending my son’s legacy.
I sat on Peter’s bed, and the room was too quiet now. His things were everywhere. Books, medals, a half-finished sketch he’d left on the desk. Peter loved to draw when he wasn’t busy reading or figuring out some complicated problem that made my head spin.
A boy drawing | Source: Pexels
“You were too smart for me, kid,” I muttered, picking up a photo frame from his nightstand. He had that crooked grin, the one he’d flash whenever he thought he was outsmarting me. He usually was.
This picture was taken just before my smart boy got into Yale. I still couldn’t believe it sometimes. But he never got to go. The drunk driver made sure of that.
A man mourning his loved one | Source: Pexels
I rubbed my temples and sighed. The grief hit me in waves, like it had since November. Some days, I could almost function. Other days, like today, it swallowed me whole.
The knock on the door brought me back. Susan. She’d left a voicemail earlier. “We need to talk about Peter’s fund,” she’d said. Her voice was sweet but always too practiced, too fake. I didn’t call back. But, now, here she was.
A woman on her phone | Source: Pexels
I opened the door. She was dressed sharp as always, but her eyes were cold.
“Can I come in?” Susan asked, stepping past me before I could answer.
I sighed and motioned toward the living room. “Make it quick.”
She sat down, making herself at home. “Look,” she said, her tone was casual like this was no big deal. “We know Peter had a college fund.”
A woman on her couch | Source: Pexels
I immediately knew where this was going. “You’re kidding, right?”
Susan leaned forward, smirking. “Think about it. The money’s just sitting there. Why not put it to good use? Ryan could really benefit.”
“That money was for Peter,” I snapped. My voice rose before I could stop it. “It’s not for your stepson.”
Susan gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. “Don’t be like this. Ryan is family too.”
An angry man | Source: Midjourney
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Family? Peter barely knew him. You barely knew Peter.”
Her face reddened, but she didn’t deny it. “Let’s meet for coffee tomorrow and discuss it. You, Jerry, and me.”
That evening, the memory of that conversation lingered as I sat back down on Peter’s bed. I looked around his room again, my heart aching. How did we get here?
A man sitting in his late son’s bedroom | Source: Midjourney
Peter had always been mine to raise. Susan left when he was 12. She didn’t want the “responsibility,” as she’d called it. “It’s better for Peter this way,” she’d said like she was doing us both a favor.
For years, it was just me and Peter. He was my world, and I was his. I’d wake up early to make his lunch, help him with homework after school, and sit in the stands cheering at his games. Susan didn’t bother. She’d send a card for his birthday, sometimes. No gifts, just a card with her name scrawled at the bottom.
A birthday card | Source: Pexels
That’s what made the one summer with Susan and Jerry so hard. Peter wanted to bond with them, even if I didn’t trust it. But when he came back, he was different. Quieter. One night, I finally got him to talk.
“They don’t care about me, Dad,” he’d said softly. “Jerry said I’m not his responsibility, so I ate cereal for dinner every night.”
I clenched my fists but didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to make it worse. But I never sent him back.
A sad boy | Source: Pexels
Peter didn’t mind, or at least he never showed it. He loved school, and he loved dreaming about the future. “One day, Dad,” he’d say, “we’re going to Belgium. We’ll see the museums, the castles. And don’t forget the beer monks!”
“Beer monks?” I’d laugh. “You’re a little young for that, aren’t you?”
“It’s research,” he’d reply with a grin. “Yale’s going to love me.”
A happy teenage boy | Source: Pexels
And they did. I remember the day the acceptance letter came. He opened it at the kitchen table, his hands shaking, and then he yelled so loud I thought the neighbors might call the cops. I’d never been prouder. Now, it was all gone.
That night, I barely slept, preparing for the conversation with Susan.
The next morning, I walked into the coffee shop, spotting them immediately. Susan was scrolling through her phone, looking bored. Jerry sat across from her, stirring his coffee so loudly it grated on my nerves. They didn’t even notice me at first.
A couple drinking coffee | Source: Freepik
I stood by their table. “Let’s get this over with.”
Susan looked up, her practiced smile snapping into place. “Oh, good. You’re here. Sit, sit.” She gestured like she was doing me a favor.
I slid into the chair across from them, saying nothing. I wanted them to speak first.
Jerry leaned back, his smug grin plastered across his face. “We appreciate you meeting us. We know this isn’t easy.”
A man in a cafe | Source: Pexels
I raised an eyebrow. “No, it’s not.”
Susan jumped in, her tone syrupy sweet. “We just think… it’s the right thing to do, you know? Peter’s fund — it’s not being used. And Ryan, well, he’s got so much potential.”
Jerry nodded, folding his arms. “College is expensive, man. You of all people should understand that. Why let that money sit there when it could actually help someone?”
A man talking to a serious woman | Source: Midjourney
“Someone?” I repeated, my voice low. “You mean your stepson?”
Susan sighed like I was being difficult. “Ryan is part of the family. Peter would have wanted to help.”
“Don’t you dare speak for Peter,” I snapped. “He barely knew Ryan. And let’s not pretend you cared about Peter either.”
Susan stiffened, her smile faltering. “That’s not fair.”
A serious woman talking to a man in a cafe | Source: Midjourney
“No?” I leaned forward, keeping my voice steady. “Let’s talk about fair. Fair is raising a kid, showing up for them, being there when it counts. I did that for Peter. You didn’t. You sent him to me because you were too busy with your ‘new family.’ And now you think you’re entitled to his legacy?”
Jerry’s smugness cracked for a second. He recovered quickly. “Look, it’s not about entitlement. It’s about doing the right thing.”
A smiling man in a cafe | Source: Freepik
“The right thing?” I laughed bitterly. “Like the summer Peter stayed with you? Remember that? Fourteen years old, and you wouldn’t even buy him dinner. You let him eat cereal while you and Susan had steak.”
Jerry’s face reddened, but he said nothing.
“That’s not true,” Susan said quickly, her voice shaky. “You’re twisting things.”
An annoyed woman in a cafe | Source: Midjourney
“No, I’m not,” I said sharply. “Peter told me himself. He tried to connect with you two. He wanted to believe you cared. But you didn’t.”
Jerry slammed his coffee cup onto the table. “You’re being ridiculous. Do you know how hard it is to raise a kid these days?”
“I do,” I shot back. “I raised Peter without a dime from either of you. So don’t you dare lecture me.”
An annoyed man talking to a woman | Source: Midjourney
The coffee shop had gone quiet. People were staring, but I didn’t care. I stood, glaring at both of them. “You don’t deserve a cent of that fund. It’s not yours. It never will be.”
Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out.
Back home, I sat in Peter’s room again. The confrontation replayed in my mind, but it didn’t make the ache in my chest any lighter.
A man in his son’s room | Source: Midjourney
I picked up his photo from the desk — the one of us on his birthday. “They don’t get it, buddy,” I said softly. “They never did.”
I looked around the room, taking in the books, the drawings, the little pieces of him that still felt so alive here. My eyes landed on the map of Europe tacked to his wall. Belgium was circled in bright red marker.
A map of Europe | Source: Freepik
“We were supposed to go,” I whispered. “You and me. The museums, the castles, the beer monks.” I chuckled softly, my voice breaking. “You really had it all planned out.”
The ache in my chest deepened, but then something shifted. A new thought, a new resolve.
I opened my laptop and logged into the 529 Plan account. As I stared at the balance, I knew what to do. That money wasn’t for Ryan. It wasn’t for anyone else. It was for Peter. For us.
A man on his laptop | Source: Freepik
“I’m doing it,” I said aloud. “Belgium. Just like we said.”
A week later, I was on a plane, Peter’s photo tucked safely in my jacket pocket. The seat beside me was empty, but it didn’t feel that way. I gripped the armrest as the plane lifted off, my heart pounding.
“Hope you’re here with me, kid,” I whispered, glancing at his picture.
A man on a plane | Source: Freepik
The trip was everything we’d dreamed of. I walked through grand museums, stood in awe at towering castles, and even visited a brewery run by monks. I imagined Peter’s excitement, crooked grin, and endless questions at every stop.
On the last night, I sat by the canal, the city lights reflecting on the water. I pulled out Peter’s photo and held it up to the view.
A man sitting by the canal | Source: Pexels
“This is for you,” I said quietly. “We made it.”
For the first time in months, the ache in my chest felt lighter. Peter was gone, but he was with me. And this — this was our dream. I wouldn’t let anyone take it away.
A man sitting by a canal | Source: Midjourney
Old Widow Finds Flowers at Her Doorstep Every Week, Has No Idea Who They’re From – Story of the Day
Months after her husband Albert died, Vivienne started receiving her favorite flowers every week. None of her children or grandchildren had sent them, so they set up a surveillance camera to find out who did. But the truth changed their entire family.
Albert and Vivienne Harrison lived in Indianapolis, Indiana for most of their 55-year marriage. Albert died from natural causes at 86 years old, and she was heartbroken. But luckily, she had a big family to keep her company.
The couple had three children, six grandchildren, and their first great-grandchild was born a few months before Albert died. Vivienne knew they had lived a long, peaceful life filled with love, so her heart was at ease despite how much she missed Albert.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
But a few months after his death, she returned home from Sunday mass to see a bouquet of her favorite flowers on her doorstep. “Oh, aren’t these the most exquisite roses!” Vivienne said to herself after picking them up.
She called her daughter, Miriam, who told her she didn’t send them. Vivienne rang both her sons too, but neither Andrew nor Blake sent them either. They all promised to ask their children to see if any of them had.
But after a few phone calls, no one in the family could figure out who did it. “I’m sorry, Mom. None of my kids did. But Gina said that she once saw a movie where an old man instructed a flower shop to send flowers to his wife after his death,” Miriam said.
“Do you think your father did that?” Vivienne wondered.
“I don’t know, but I remember that Dad always got you flowers from the same shop. It couldn’t hurt to ask them,” Miriam suggested. So Vivienne called their go-to flower shop, but they didn’t have such an order from Albert.
She called Miriam again, but her daughter Gina had no other ideas. “Well, Mom. Maybe some kind stranger sent a random bouquet. Just enjoy them.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Vivienne put the matter off her mind for the rest of the week and continued with her life. However, another bouquet was waiting at her doorstep when she returned from mass the following Sunday.
“It’s weird, Miriam. What if it’s a creep or one of those stalkers I’ve read about?” she hesitated.
“Stop watching crime documentaries, Mom. It’s none of that. Just enjoy the flowers,” Miriam said, exasperated. She didn’t think her mother should be worried about flowers. But the bouquets kept coming every Sunday, and Vivienne needed to know what was happening.
“Ok, Grandma. I bought you this camera for your front door. It records who comes to your doorstep and such,” explained Hanna, Miriam’s other daughter, when she came over to visit her grandmother. She installed the camera herself, and they waited to see what happened.
That Sunday, they saw a strange man with a bouquet. He left them on her porch and then fled. “That’s weird, Grandma. It’s a young man,” Hanna said when she browsed through the footage.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“See? It’s weird. I told your mother this whole thing was odd, but she doesn’t think it’s a big deal,” Vivienne replied.
“I think he might just be a delivery man. I don’t think he’s the one sending the flowers, although he’s not wearing a uniform,” Hanna observed. “Let’s wait to see if he comes around again.”
He did. The man came over every Sunday at the same time to deliver the flowers. Finally, Vivienne had enough and decided not to attend church to catch him. This time, Hanna and Andrew’s son, Jake, stayed with her just in case.
They were watching the live footage of the camera when the man showed up. Jake rushed to the door, opened it, and the man bolted. But Jake ran to catch him while Hanna stayed behind with Vivienne.
Jake caught him before the man could escape and brought him back to his grandmother’s house. “Who are you, young man? Why have you been delivering flowers here every week?” Vivienne asked sternly.
“Mrs. Harrison, this is hard to explain. My name is Michael, and your husband was my grandfather,” the man began.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“What? Are you crazy, man? We know all our cousins. There’s no way,” Jake warned angrily.
“I know it’s hard to take. From what I know, Grandpa Albert had an affair right before getting married. My grandmother didn’t know she was pregnant until months later. Then she raised my mother alone. But I reached out to Grandpa a few years ago,” Michael stated.
“We formed a nice bond. He told me about your family and wanted to introduce me to you guys. But the timing was never right. The last time I spoke to him, he said that if he passed, he hoped I would buy you flowers, as his apology for not telling you the truth sooner.”
“I can’t believe this,” Hanna whispered. Jake shook his head. But Vivienne knew that the boy was telling the truth. He looked just like Albert did when they got married.
“You are the spitting image of my late husband. Do you think I could meet your grandmother?” Vivienne asked. She had a few questions for the woman.
“I’m sorry. My Grandma and Mom died in a car accident when I was 20. That’s why I reached out to Grandpa. I didn’t have any family left,” Michael revealed.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Oh, my dear. I’m sorry. In that case, I’m glad that you got to meet Albert. He was a family man through and through. This might be a shock to the rest of the family, but they will want to meet you,” Vivienne assured.
The entire family was shocked to learn about Grandpa Albert’s affair, but they welcomed Michael at Vivienne’s insistence. They had a BBQ party where everyone got to meet him. Michael also introduced them to his wife and their toddler.
“Mom, how can you be so calm about this?” Miriam asked her mother at the gathering.
“Oh, honey. Life is so short. If I had discovered this incident years ago, maybe I would’ve been mad. But now, I’m just glad to have more people to love. Also, he followed your father’s wishes to make me happy. That tells you the kind of man he is,” Vivienne shared.
In the end, Michael formed a beautiful bond with most of his cousins, who were all around his age. It took a little longer for his aunt and uncles to accept him, but they did in the end.
But most surprisingly, Michael had a soft spot for Vivienne. He continued to bring her flowers every Sunday, and the older woman invited him for tea every time.
What can we learn from this story?
- It’s easier to see the big picture when you’re older. Her kids and grandkids couldn’t understand at first, but Vivienne knew they would all be happier after accepting Michael.
- Don’t keep secrets. Albert should’ve told his wife about Michael as soon as he found out. But he died before he could say anything.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a woman who heard a stranger say, “Everything is going according to plan,” at her husband’s funeral.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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