She followed me into the kitchen, her heels clicking on the hardwood. “So, I was wondering… what are you doing with Emily’s college money?”
I blinked, taken aback by the quick shift.
“This is Emma. Her name was Emma. And we are donating it. Her father and I are dividing it between two causes she cared about.
Amber twisted her lip into a scowl. “Wait, what? Are you giving it away? Are you kidding? That is so foolish! You can give it to me. “We are family.”
Family. The word struck me like a slap.
This from the woman who labeled me a gold-digger at her father’s 58th birthday party and informed everyone he knew that I was his “midlife crisis.”
“That fund was for my daughter’s future,” I explained cautiously. “You didn’t even know her.”
Amber crossed her arms, appearing truly offended. “So? I am your daughter now, am I not? Do stepchildren not count when it is inconvenient?
I laughed, a piercing, bitter laugh that astonished even me. Because at that moment, the full chutzpah of it all struck me.
This woman, who had spent years seeing me as an invader in her father’s life, was now claiming family privilege over my deceased child’s college fund.
That’s when my husband strode in, arms folded and stern expression on his face.
“Babe, Amber’s got a point,” he said. “Charity can wait.”
I rounded on him. “What? But when I told you Tom and I were donating the money, you agreed that it’s what Emma would’ve wanted.”
“I know, but now… well, donating $13,000 to two charities is barely a dent in the big picture. But for Amber, that much money is life-changing. That could be a house down payment. You can honor Emma in other ways.”
Something in me mad. Like ice under pressure, holding together but essentially changed.
I had buried a child. The little girl who used to make me Mother’s Day cards was long gone, and this man was haggling as if we were dividing leftover furniture from a rummage sale.
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