Jerry was defensive, but I wasn’t backing down. “You’re not getting a penny. It’s Peter’s, and it stays with him.”
I left the coffee shop, my mind swirling, but when I got home, I knew what I had to do.
I powered up my laptop, opened Peter’s 529 Plan account, and made a decision. I wasn’t letting anyone take this from me. I was going to honor Peter’s memory the way he deserved.
A week later, I found myself boarding a plane to Belgium—our dream trip. I held Peter’s photo close, the empty seat beside me feeling strangely occupied by him. I walked through museums, admired castles, and even visited a brewery run by monks—just like Peter had imagined. “Monks who brew beer?” I smiled, hearing his voice in my head.
On the last night, by the canal in Brussels, I pulled out Peter’s photo. “We did it, kid,” I whispered. This was our dream, and I had made it come true.