Five years after losing our son Robert, grief still lingers. He dreamed of stars and rockets—Orion’s Belt was his favorite. Before he was born, Martin’s parents gifted us a college fund for him. Over time, we added to it with bonuses and birthday money, nurturing his dream. When he passed, we left the fund untouched. It felt sacred.
After trying and failing to conceive again, silence became our language. Martin held me through every heartbreak. The family knew—but Amber, Martin’s sister, didn’t care. She judged our grief like it was a performance.
At Martin’s birthday dinner, she demanded we give Robert’s college fund to her son, Steven. I froze. Then Jay, my father-in-law, stood and calmly reminded her Steven had a fund—she spent it on a Disney trip.
Amber’s face fell. No one defended her.
When I spoke, my voice shook. “That money is Robert’s. It carries his dreams. You erased him.”
She left in silence.
Martin took my hand. “You did the right thing.”
“I hated it.”
“I know,” he said. “But it had to be said.”
