“If you’re sure,” he said, softly. “Then that’s perfect.”
We spent the morning cooking. The house filled with scents—lamb, sweet and sour pork, rosemary potatoes. Jay brought his signature lemon tart. Amber brought her superiority.
Her seventeen-year-old son, Steven, brought his phone and zero manners.
Robert always helped with the cake. He’d climb his little stool beside me, pressing candy decorations into frosting with sticky fingers, humming his school songs.
This year, I did it alone. Triple chocolate and raspberry. Their favorite.
I lit the candles. Jay dimmed the lights. The singing was gentle, like we were afraid joy might crack from the weight of remembering. I saw a flicker of happiness on Martin’s face.
Then Amber cleared her throat.
She set down her wine glass like she was making a speech.
“Okay, I can’t stay silent anymore. Martin, you need to hear me out. How long are you planning to just let that college fund sit there?”
Everything stopped.
My heart pounded once—slow and heavy.
Amber kept going.
“It’s clear you’re not having another kid. Two years and nothing? I mean, Clara, you’re not exactly young anymore. Meanwhile, Steven’s about to graduate. He needs that money.”
I looked around, praying someone would intervene. Martin sat frozen. His face was unreadable now—shut down.
Steven stayed glued to his phone.
Jay’s fork hit the plate with a sharp sound. Then he slowly stood.
“Amber,” he said, calm but firm. “You want to talk about that account? Let’s talk.”
Amber blinked, clearly not expecting resistance.
Jay turned to her, expression cold and controlled.
“That fund was created for Robert. Just like we made one for Steven. Equal contributions for both grandsons. Because fairness matters.”
Steven looked up. Amber stiffened.
“But you emptied Steven’s,” Jay said. “Took it all when he was fifteen to fund a Disney vacation. You said it was for memories. I didn’t argue. But don’t pretend Clara and Martin have something your son didn’t.”
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