George’s absence lingered in every corner of the house. His scent still clung to the fabric of his favorite shirt, the one Mariana held tightly to her chest each night. But it wasn’t just grief that tore her apart—it was Susan, her stepdaughter, who shattered her heart in a way she never expected.
Mariana had been married to George for 25 years, and though he had a daughter from a previous marriage, she never saw Susan as anything but her own child. Susan had once called her “Mom” with love, filling the void of motherhood that Mariana had long yearned for. But everything changed when George fell ill.
At first, Susan visited regularly, her concern for her father evident. But as the months passed, her visits became less frequent. Weekly turned to monthly, then to rare phone calls. Mariana tried to understand. Susan had a new family, a newborn baby. But the words that left Susan’s mouth one day made her heart freeze.
“How much longer does Dad have?” Susan asked over the phone, her tone impatient.
Mariana gripped the receiver tightly. “Susan, your father isn’t a product with an expiry date!”
“I just need to know, Mom. I have responsibilities. I can’t keep running back and forth.”
Mariana’s heart ached. “You mean you’re too busy to see your dying father?”
Susan sighed. “I’ll visit soon, okay?”
But soon never came.
Then, the dreaded call from the hospital arrived. George was gone.
Mariana’s world crumbled. She could barely stand, barely breathe. But the most painful part? Susan didn’t even come to the funeral. When Mariana called her, Susan had an excuse ready.
“I just had a baby last month, Mom,” she said coolly. “The doctor advised against traveling.”
Mariana swallowed her tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you want to say goodbye?”
“I can’t risk my baby’s health. You understand, right?”
Mariana forced a nod, though Susan couldn’t see it. “Of course, sweetie. Take care.”
She hung up, staring at George’s coffin, feeling the final thread of her connection to Susan snap. She thought she had lost everything that day. But she was wrong.
Six months later, a loud knock echoed through the house. Mariana opened the door to find Susan, her husband Doug, and a stiff-looking man in a suit.
Susan didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Mom, we need you to sign some papers.”
Mariana frowned. “What papers?”
Doug shoved a stack of documents into her hands. “Just sign these. It’s to transfer Dad’s assets to us.”
Mariana blinked, her grip tightening on the papers. “Excuse me?”
Susan huffed. “Mom, don’t act like this. We’re just taking what’s rightfully ours.”
Mariana’s heart pounded. “No. I won’t sign anything. Get out of my house.”
Susan’s face twisted with anger. “You’re not even my REAL MOTHER!”
The words sliced through Mariana’s chest like a knife.
“After all these years?” Mariana whispered. “How can you say that?”
“Because it’s true!” Susan snapped. “This house, the money, everything—it belongs to me!”
Mariana stood her ground. “Get out before I call the police. Your father would be heartbroken to see this.”
Doug sneered. “Just sign the damn papers, lady.”
Their shouting drew the attention of a neighbor, who rushed over. “You heard her! Get out!”
Susan’s eyes burned with fury as she was ushered away. “This isn’t over, Mariana! You’ll regret this!”
For weeks, Susan bombarded Mariana with calls, demanding her inheritance. Exhausted, Mariana contacted a lawyer.
When Susan returned, expecting to claim her father’s wealth, Mariana handed her a single envelope. “Here. You wanted your father’s assets.”
Susan ripped it open, her face turning red. “WHAT?! Three thousand dollars and an old car? Where’s the rest? The house? The SUV? The farmhouse?”
Mariana smiled. “Everything else is in my name. George transferred it all to me years ago.”
Susan’s face contorted in rage. “You tricked me!”
“No,” Mariana said softly. “I gave you exactly what you asked for—your father’s assets. The rest belonged to me.”
Susan threatened to sue, but her case fell apart. Mariana sold everything—her house, the farmhouse, even the SUV. She moved far away to a dream villa, living the life she and George had always imagined.
One day, her phone rang. A strange number.
“Mrs. Anderson? I’m calling on behalf of Susan. She wants to meet.”
Mariana’s stomach twisted. “No. I have nothing more to say to her.”
She hung up, staring at the ocean outside her window, the sun dipping below the waves.
For the first time in a long time, she felt at peace.
And she knew—George would be proud.
