Six years ago, I remarried, knowing it would be a delicate balance. My daughter Ava was ten, still grieving her father, David — a quiet, loving man who left her a college fund as his final gift.
Blending families was tough. My new husband Greg had a 20-year-old daughter, Becca, who made no effort to connect. I tried to build bridges, but Becca kept us at a distance.
One night over dinner, Greg dropped a bomb: he wanted to use $30,000 from Ava’s college fund to pay for Becca’s wedding. His logic? “Family helps family.” Ava, just 16, sat unaware, dreaming aloud about her future.
I stayed calm but was seething inside. David’s sacrifice wasn’t meant to fund Pinterest dreams.
Two days later, I gave Greg and Becca a choice: I’d write the check — if they signed a contract to repay every cent within a year. Or, they could sign the divorce papers I’d brought instead.
Greg was stunned. Becca scoffed. But I didn’t waver. Protecting Ava came first.
Greg moved out two weeks later. Becca’s wedding went ahead, smaller and funded elsewhere. Ava and I weren’t invited, and I didn’t mind.
That night, Ava hugged me tight and whispered, “Thank you for choosing me.”
“I’ll always choose you,” I replied. “That’s what mothers do.”
David’s fund remains untouched, waiting for Ava’s future — whatever she decides to make of it.