Susan’s indifferent attitude only made me more determined. For years, it had just been Peter and me. After Susan walked out when he was twelve, I was all he had. I was the one who made his lunch, helped with homework, and cheered him on at his games. Susan sent birthday cards. That was it.
I couldn’t forget that summer when Peter came back from staying with them, quieter, subdued. He told me, “They don’t care about me, Dad. Jerry said I’m not his responsibility, so I ate cereal every night.”
The thought of Susan, who’d abandoned Peter, now wanting to redirect his fund was infuriating. This was my responsibility, and I wasn’t about to let them erase Peter’s memory.
The meeting at the coffee shop only made things worse. Susan and Jerry tried to justify their claim with hollow words about “family” and “doing the right thing.” I shot them down. “Peter would never have wanted this,” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “You didn’t even care about him.”