My Lesson Was Strict

I knew things would change when I remarried, but I never expected my new wife, Gaby, to go after my late wife’s money. That money was meant for our daughters’ future, not hers. When she tried to pressure me into giving her access, it set off a chain of events she would never forget.

A tear slipped down my cheek as I sat in the living room, clutching an old photo of my late wife, Edith, and our daughters. In the picture, they were at the beach, smiling, their faces glowing with happiness. “I miss you, Ed,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the image. “The girls… they’re growing up so fast. I wish you could see them now.” It had been three years since cancer took Edith, and not a day went by that I didn’t think about her.

Just then, a soft knock on the door snapped me back to the present. It was my mother, peeking her head in, her face lined with concern.

“Charlie, honey, you can’t keep living in the past. I know it’s been hard, but it’s been three years now. You need to think about the future. The girls need a mother figure,” she urged gently, sitting beside me on the couch.

I sighed, setting the photo down. “Mom, we’re doing fine. The girls are okay. I’m okay.”

She gave me a knowing look. “But they’re growing up, Charlie. And you can’t do this all alone. What about that nice woman from your office? Gabriela? She seems like a good fit for the family.”

I rubbed my temples. “Gaby? She’s just a coworker, Mom.”

My mother raised her eyebrows. “And a single mother, like you’re a single father. It might be worth giving her a chance, for the girls’ sake.”

Her words lingered in my mind long after she left. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to consider moving forward.

Fast forward a year, and Gaby had become a part of our lives. We had gotten married, and for the most part, things were going well. My daughters seemed to like her, and she did a good job of stepping in as a mother figure. But something still felt… off.

“Dad! Watch this!” my youngest daughter called from the yard, attempting a cartwheel. I clapped and smiled, even though I felt a bit distant.

Gaby, who was sitting beside me, linked her arm through mine and leaned in. “You’ve raised such wonderful girls, Charlie. You should be proud.”

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Thanks. I try my best.”

As the day went on, Gaby’s compliments kept coming, but they started to feel a little… calculated. It wasn’t until later that evening, when we were in the kitchen, that her true intentions became clear.

She cornered me while I was making coffee, her voice sugary sweet. “Charlie, we need to talk about something important—the girls’ trust fund.”

My stomach dropped. “What about it?”

Her tone changed, becoming more assertive. “I overheard you talking with your financial advisor. Edith left quite a bit of money for the girls, didn’t she? And I think it’s time we considered how to use it for all of our children.”

I stared at her, trying to comprehend what she was saying. “That money is for my daughters’ future. It’s for their college and to help them start their lives. It’s not something we can just touch.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her voice took on a manipulative edge. “What about my girls? Don’t they deserve the same opportunities? We’re supposed to be one family now, right?”

I set my coffee mug down, trying to keep my voice steady. “We are one family, Gaby, but that money was left for my daughters. It’s Edith’s legacy to them.”

“Her children?” she snapped. “We’re married now, Charlie. Shouldn’t we be treating all the kids equally?”

My patience was running thin. “I’ve treated your daughters like my own from the beginning, but that money isn’t for us to touch. It’s for their future, and I won’t compromise on that.”

Gaby’s face flushed with anger. “You’re being selfish, Charlie. You’re putting your dead wife’s wishes above our new family.”

“Don’t speak about Edith like that,” I warned. “This conversation is over.”

I could see the fury in her eyes, but I walked away, refusing to let her manipulate me any further. That night, I lay awake in bed, realizing just how far Gaby was willing to go to get her hands on Edith’s money.

A plan began to form in my mind.

The next morning, I made a show of calling my financial advisor, making sure Gaby could hear every word.

“Yes, I’d like to set up a new account for my stepdaughters,” I said loudly. “It will be funded from our joint income.”

Gaby’s head snapped around, surprise flashing across her face. “What are you doing?”

I turned to her calmly. “I’m setting up a fund for your daughters. We’ll contribute to it together from our earnings.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And Edith’s money?”

“That stays where it is. It’s not up for debate.”

“You think this is a solution?” she asked, her voice rising. “This is insulting!”

I met her gaze, my voice firm. “It’s fair, Gaby. It’s the best solution for everyone.”

The weeks that followed were tense. Gaby alternated between icy silences and attempts to guilt-trip me, but I held my ground. I refused to let her get near Edith’s money.

One evening, my eldest daughter, sensing the tension, asked, “Dad, is everything okay between you and Gaby?”

I smiled and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. Everything’s going to be fine.”

But deep down, I knew this marriage was on shaky ground. Gaby’s greed had revealed a side of her I hadn’t seen before, and it wasn’t something I could easily forget.

In the end, Gaby learned a hard lesson. She thought she could manipulate me into giving her access to my late wife’s money, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. I had made a promise to Edith, and I intended to keep it.

As I watched my daughters play in the yard, I felt a sense of peace. I had protected what mattered most: their future and their mother’s legacy. No one, not even Gaby, could take that away from them.

In the end, Gaby realized that if she wanted to stay in this family, she’d have to respect the boundaries I had set. And if she couldn’t, well, that was a lesson she would learn the hard way.