My husband’s death shattered me and my son. But losing the family I thought was ours was a different kind of wound. His mother cut us off completely. Months later, I saw her draped in wealth she never had before. Something felt off. Where did the money come from? The truth shook me.
Zach and I weren’t rich, but we were happy. God, we were so happy. Our room in his family’s house felt like a palace when filled with laughter—his deep chuckle mixing with our son Benny’s high-pitched squeals.
I used to stand in the kitchen doorway sometimes, just watching them build Lego towers on the living room floor, thinking, “This is it. This is everything.”
Then came that rainy Tuesday in April.
I was chopping vegetables for dinner when my phone rang. Our seven-year-old son, Benny, was coloring at the kitchen table, humming to himself.
“Ms. Tiana?” An unfamiliar voice spoke. “This is Officer Ramirez from the county police department.”
My hand froze mid-slice.
“There’s been an accident.”
The knife clattered to the floor. Benny looked up, crayon paused above paper.
“Mommy? What’s wrong?”
How do you tell your child his father isn’t coming home? That Daddy was rushing to make it to movie night, took a curve too fast, and now he’s gone forever?
“Your dad…” I knelt beside him, my voice breaking. “Your dad had an accident.”
His little face crumpled. “But he promised we’d see the new superhero movie tonight.”
“I know, baby,” I whispered, pulling him against me. “I know he did.”
The funeral was a blur of black clothes and hollow condolences. My mother-in-law, Doris, stood across the grave from us, her face set like stone. She never approved of me.
After the last mourners left, she approached, her steps measured on the cemetery grass.
“You know, if he hadn’t been racing home to you two, he’d still be alive.”
The words hit like slaps. Benny gripped my hand tighter.
“That’s not fair, Doris,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “He loved us.”
“And look where that got him.” She glanced down at Benny, then back at me. “We don’t want you at the house anymore. You’ve taken enough from this family.”
Three days later, we packed our things. Zach’s father watched silently from the doorway as I folded Benny’s clothes into a suitcase.
“Grandpa, where will we go?” Benny asked, clutching his favorite teddy bear—a gift from Zach.
His grandfather turned away without answering.
“We’ll find our own place,” I told Benny, forcing a smile. “Just you and me, buddy.”
The cottage we found was small but clean, with a tiny backyard where Benny could play. The rent ate half my waitressing salary, but seeing my son chase butterflies in the patchy grass made it worth every penny.
I took double shifts when I could. Night after night, I came home with aching feet, only to find Benny asleep on the couch, waiting for me. I’d carry him to bed, careful not to wake him, then collapse beside him, too exhausted to even cry.
Three months after Zach’s death, I saw Doris.
I was leaving the discount grocery store, calculating whether I had enough money for both the electricity bill and Benny’s school supplies, when a gleaming black car pulled into the premium parking space.
The door opened, and out stepped Doris—draped in what looked like a designer coat, giant sunglasses perched on her nose, and shopping bags from high-end stores dangling from her wrist.
I nearly dropped my groceries. The woman who spent twenty years as a cashier, carefully counting other people’s money, now looked like she’d stepped out of a luxury magazine.
Before I could think better of it, I approached her.
“Doris?”
She froze when she saw me, then regained her composure.
“Where did you get money for all this?” I gestured at her car and her clothes. “You never had these things when Zach was alive. You… you’re a cashier. How did you afford all this?”
Her eyes narrowed behind those expensive sunglasses. “It’s well… none of your business!” she snapped, brushing past me to slam her car door.
As she sped away, I stood in a cloud of exhaust fumes, suspicion gnawing at me.
“That was Grandma, wasn’t it?” Benny asked, tugging at my sleeve. “Why doesn’t she want to see us anymore?”
I looked down at my son’s confused face and forced a smile. “Some people just don’t know how to handle sadness, honey.”
The Rusty Nail Bar wasn’t my first choice for employment, but the tips were good, and the late hours meant I could still be there when Benny got home from school.
One slow Tuesday night, I was wiping down tables when the weight of Zach’s absence pressed on my chest like a boulder I could never roll away.
I slipped his photo from my wallet—the one from our anniversary trip to the lake. He was mid-laugh, sunlight catching in his hair.
“Hey, I know that guy.”
I looked up to find Max, the bartender, leaning over my shoulder.
“You do?”
“Yeah, he used to come in sometimes. Wait—” His eyes widened. “You’re his wife, aren’t you? Tiana, right? He talked about you all the time.”
A lump formed in my throat. “He did?”
Max nodded, sliding into the booth across from me. “Man, he was so proud of you and your kid… always showed us pictures.” His face grew serious. “I heard what happened. I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks,” I said, tucking the photo away.
“So, did you get the money from his mom?”
I stared at him. “What money?”
Max’s expression shifted from sympathy to confusion. “The cash. Zach’s savings. He kept it at his mom’s place… said something about keeping it off the books because of some old debts.” He leaned closer. “He must’ve had close to a hundred grand stashed there over the years.”
The room seemed to tilt. “A hundred thousand dollars? And his mother has it?”
“Yeah, in her basement. Zach showed me once when we were hanging out. Said it was all for you and Benny someday.”
Suddenly, the designer clothes, the sports car, Doris’s sudden wealth—it all made sickening sense.
“I’ve gotta go,” I said, already reaching for my jacket. “Cover for me?”
Max nodded, concern etched on his face. “You gonna be okay?”
I paused at the door. “No. But I’m going to get what belongs to my son.”
[To be continued…]
