My New Wife Demanded I Use My Late Wifes Money Left for Our Kids on Her Daughters, My Lesson Was Strict
I expected things to change when I remarried, but I never imagined my new wife would go after the money left by my late wife, Edith. That money was meant for our daughters’ future, not hers. She thought she could manipulate me, but what happened next would be a lesson she’d never forget.
A tear slipped down my cheek as I held a photo of Edith and our daughters at the beach. “I miss you, Ed,” I whispered, tracing her face in the picture. “The girls… they’re growing up so fast. I wish you could see them.” Her radiant smile and lively eyes stared back at me, a cruel reminder of the life cancer took too soon.
Just then, a soft knock interrupted my thoughts. My mother stepped in, her face lined with concern.
“Charlie, honey, you can’t keep living in the past. It’s been three years. You need to move on. The girls need a mother figure.”
I sighed, placing the frame on the table. “Mom, we’re doing fine. The girls—”
“—are getting older,” she interrupted, sitting beside me. “You’re not getting any younger either. What about that woman from your office, Gabriela?”
I rubbed my temples, feeling the tension rising. “Mom, Gaby’s just a coworker.”
“And a single mother, just like you’re a single father. Think about it, Charlie, for the girls’ sake.”
As much as I tried to shake it off, her words stuck with me. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to move forward.
A year later, I watched Gaby laughing with my daughters in our backyard. She had swept into our lives, and before I knew it, we were married. It wasn’t the same as with Edith, but it was nice.
“Dad! Look at me!” My youngest called, attempting a cartwheel.
“Great job, sweetie!” I clapped, trying to sound cheerful.
Gaby joined me, wrapping her arm around mine. “They’re wonderful girls, Charlie. You’ve done an amazing job.”
“Thanks, Gaby. I’m doing my best.”
Her compliments always brought a strange guilt, like a shadow I couldn’t escape.
Later, Gaby approached me with a different tone. “We need to talk about the girls’ trust fund,” she said, her voice dripping with sweetness.
I froze, my coffee cup halfway to my lips. “What trust fund?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she snapped. “I heard you on the phone with your financial advisor. Edith left a decent sum for the girls, didn’t she?”
My stomach tightened. I’d never told Gaby about the fund because I didn’t think I’d need to.
“That money is for their future,” I said calmly. “College, starting their lives—”
“And what about my daughters? Don’t they deserve the same opportunities?”
“Of course they do,” I replied, “but that money is Edith’s legacy for her children.”
Her eyes narrowed. “We’re supposed to be one family now. Or was that just talk?”
I felt the heat rising in my chest. “I’ve treated your daughters as my own since the beginning.”
“Then why is all that money locked away for just your biological kids?”
The tension was palpable. I struggled to keep my voice steady. “That fund is not for us to touch. It’s for my daughters.”
“So you’re choosing your dead wife over your living family?”
“Don’t you dare talk about Edith that way!” I snapped. “This conversation is over.”
Gaby’s face reddened with anger. “You’re impossible!” she shouted before storming off.
As she left, a plan formed in my mind. The next morning, I made sure Gaby overheard me on the phone with my financial advisor. “I’d like to open a new account for my stepdaughters, funded by our joint income.”
I turned to find Gaby standing in the doorway, her face twisted in shock and fury.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Setting up a fund for your daughters, just like you wanted. From our shared earnings.”
“And the trust fund?” she asked, her voice icy.
“That stays untouched. It’s non-negotiable.”
“You think this solves anything? It’s insulting!”
“No, Gaby. It’s setting boundaries. We build our future together, not by taking what doesn’t belong to us.”
She jabbed a finger at my chest. “You’re choosing your daughters over us. Admit it!”
“I’m choosing to respect Edith’s wishes. If you can’t accept that, we have a bigger problem.”
The following weeks were filled with icy silences and tense conversations. Gaby alternated between trying to guilt-trip me and giving me the cold shoulder. But I stood my ground.
One night, as I tucked my daughters into bed, my oldest asked, “Daddy, are you and Gaby okay?”
I hesitated, then said, “We’re working through some things, sweetheart. But don’t worry.”
Her worried eyes met mine. “We don’t want you to be sad again.”
I hugged her tightly. “I promise, your happiness is all that matters.”
As I left their room, Gaby was waiting, arms crossed.
“They’re good kids, Charlie. But my girls deserve just as much.”
“They do,” I agreed, “and that’s why we’re building something for them. But we’re not touching Edith’s legacy.”
She scoffed. “You just want to be the hero for your ‘precious’ Edith.”
“This isn’t about playing hero. It’s about respecting what’s right.”
Months passed, and while the arguments became less frequent, the tension lingered. One day, as we watched all the girls playing in the backyard, Gaby turned to me and said, “This could’ve been better for all of them if you’d just listened to me.”
I met her gaze firmly. “No, Gaby. It wouldn’t have. It would’ve been unfair. This discussion ended months ago.”
As she walked away, a mix of sadness and relief washed over me. Gaby had shown her true colors, and though it hurt to see our marriage strained, I knew I had done the right thing. I wasn’t about to let her rewrite the rules to suit her needs.
I’d made my stance clear: Edith’s legacy for our daughters was untouchable. Not today, not ever.
Watching my daughters play, I knew I’d protected what mattered most—their future and the memory of their mother. Whatever lay ahead with Gaby, I was ready to face it, just as I had from the beginning.