When Clara’s sister-in-law made an unreasonable demand during what should have been a quiet family celebration, grief clashed with anger, forcing Clara to defend her late son’s legacy and draw boundaries between love and entitlement. Five years had passed since Robert’s death at age eleven. His laughter had once filled their home, building soda-bottle rockets and pointing out constellations like Orion’s Belt as if discovering them for the first time.
Before Robert was born, Clara and her husband Martin had received a generous gift from his parents to start a college fund, a gesture of hope and support that became sacred over the years. They added to it themselves—birthdays, bonuses, refunds—nurturing not just a fund, but a promise to Robert’s dreams of becoming an astrophysicist.
After his passing, the account remained untouched, a silent tribute to the future that was lost. Two years later, as Clara and Martin tried to heal and consider another child, the family knew of their struggle. Amber, Martin’s sister, however, treated their grief as a spectacle, critiquing without offering support. During Martin’s recent birthday dinner, Amber suddenly demanded that Clara and Martin give Robert’s college fund to her son, Steven, arguing it had sat idle for too long.
The room fell silent as Jay clarified the fund was for Robert, built with love and purpose. Clara defended it as his legacy, not Amber’s claim. Furious, Amber left. Later, Clara held Robert’s telescope, realizing true remembrance meant protecting his dreams, ensuring grief was honored, never exploited.
