I’m Scott, a single dad who lost my 15-year-old son, Ben, six months ago. At the funeral, everyone was there—promising support—but soon, they all vanished… except Daniel, Ben’s best friend.
For three long, painful years, Ben battled a heart condition. Through countless hospital nights, Daniel—just sixteen—showed up every weekend. He brought comic sketches, pulled up a chair, and sat by Ben’s side with unwavering loyalty.
One evening, Ben whispered, “Promise me something. If something happens to me, give Daniel my college money. He deserves it.” I promised. Weeks later, Ben passed away.
After the funeral, while everyone else drifted away, Daniel came by the next Tuesday—with a handcrafted box containing Ben’s hospital bracelet, a photo, and a heartfelt note: “Thanks for being the best friend ever.” Every week since, we’d sit in my kitchen, sharing memories of Ben, crying—or quietly reflecting.
One day during a family dinner, I announced I’d be giving Ben’s college fund to Daniel. My relatives were shocked—nearly outraged—but I refused to back down. I reminded them that while they mostly vanished, Daniel never did. He held Ben’s hand through the darkest moments and knew details about Ben I’d never heard.
Daniel starts college this fall. When I told him about the fund, he cried—not because of the money, but because finally, someone believed in him.
As I helped him move into his dorm, his roommate praised his dad. Daniel just smiled and said, “Yeah, he is. He’s the best.”
I realized then: family isn’t always blood. It’s who stays when everyone else leaves. And for the first time in months, I felt peace knowing Ben would be proud—and that I did right by his wish.