After my son passed from cancer at 25, I told his fiancée, Anna, to leave the house. I thought I was doing what had to be done—handling my grief, the bills, and trying to move on.
I didn’t realize how much she had sacrificed for him. She’d covered medical expenses insurance wouldn’t pay, worked nights, and cared for him through his final years. In my grief, I hadn’t seen her pain, her devotion, or her loss of the future she’d envisioned with him.
Later, a neighbor handed me a folder of receipts, notes, and bank statements showing everything she had done. I immediately understood how selfish I’d been. I called her, begged her to come back, and she did. That night, we shared stories of Daren, and for the first time, I truly saw the love and strength she had given him.
“Stay,” I told her. “At least until you find your footing. We’ll figure the rest out together.”