My name is Monica, and I’m 27 years old. Three days ago, my father died of a heart attack right there in his office. Just like that, one minute he was alive, working on some construction contract, and the next minute he was gone. The paramedics said it was quick. I guess that’s supposed to make me feel better, but it doesn’t.
I organized everything myself: the funeral home, the flowers, the service, the cemetery plot. Dad had money, so I could afford to do it right. His business partners came, guys he’d worked with for years building houses all over the city. His friends from the golf club showed up, too. Even some of the workers from his construction sites came to pay their respects. They all kept telling me what a good man he was, how he helped them out when times were tough, how he gave them steady work.
The service was nice. The pastor talked about Dad’s generosity and his love for his family. Well, what was left of his family, anyway. Just me. Grandma had died two years ago, and she was the only other person who really mattered to Dad after Mom left.
I was standing by the graveside, watching them lower the casket, when someone called my name. “Monica.”
I turned around and froze. There she was, my mother, standing about ten feet away with some guy I didn’t recognize and three kids. The oldest looked maybe 16, the youngest around 10. They were all dressed in dark clothes like they belonged here. I hadn’t seen her in 20 years. She looked older, obviously. Her hair was different—shorter and darker. She’d put on weight, but it was definitely her.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. My voice came out cold and hard. “How did you even know he died? I didn’t tell you.”
“I heard from some relatives.” The guy next to her put his hand on her shoulder. He was tall, balding, wearing a cheap suit. This must be the lover she ran away with all those years ago. The three kids stood behind them, looking uncomfortable.
“I can’t believe you didn’t invite me to the funeral,” she said. “He was my husband once.”
I laughed. Actually laughed right there at my father’s grave. “Your husband? You left him 20 years ago. You left both of us.”
The memories came flooding back. I was seven years old when it happened. Dad had gone on a business trip to look at some property upstate. He was only supposed to be gone for two days. Mom waited until his car was out of the driveway. Then she started packing. I remember asking her where she was going. “Mommy has to go away for a while,” she said. “You stay here. Daddy will be back soon.”
But she didn’t wait for Daddy. She packed two suitcases, wrote a note, and left it on the kitchen table. Then she walked out the door and drove away in her car. She left me alone in that house for two whole days. I was scared out of my mind. I ate cereal for breakfast and lunch because I didn’t know how to cook anything else. I watched TV and waited for someone to come home. I kept thinking Mom would come back, that she’d realized she forgot something. But she didn’t.
When Dad finally got home, he found me sitting on the couch in the same clothes I’d been wearing for two days. I ran to him, crying, telling him Mom was gone. He read her note. I never saw what it said, but his face went white. Then he crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. “Your mother is finished,” he said out loud, more to himself than to me.
Everything happened fast after that. Dad called his lawyer. Papers were filed. Mom was supposed to show up in court for the divorce and custody hearing, but she never came. The judge awarded Dad full custody and terminated her parental rights. Just like that, she was legally out of our lives. Dad told me later that Mom had been having an affair with a guy from her office. They’d been planning this for months, waiting for the right moment to run away together. That moment was when my father left town and I was alone and helpless.
Now, here she was, 20 years later, with her lover and their three kids, acting like she had some right to be at Dad’s funeral.
“Monica, these are your brothers and sisters,” she said, gesturing to the kids. “This is Tommy, he’s 16. Sarah is 13. And little Mike is 10.”
I looked at them. They looked back at me with curious eyes. They probably had no idea who I was or why their mother had brought them to a stranger’s funeral. “I don’t care,” I said. I turned away from her and walked toward my car. I heard her calling my name, but I didn’t look back. I had nothing to say to her. She’d made her choice a long time ago, and now she’d have to live with it.
The last 20 years flashed through my mind as I drove home. Dad and I had figured things out together. It was hard at first. He was devastated, working all the time to avoid thinking about what Mom had done. I spent most of my time with Grandma, Dad’s mother, who moved in to help take care of me. But Dad’s business took off. All that anger and pain he was feeling, he channeled it into work. He started getting bigger contracts, making more money. We moved to a huge house in the best part of town. He never remarried, never even had a serious girlfriend, though women tried. He said I was enough family for him.
I went to college on Dad’s dime, studied business administration. He bought me an apartment when I graduated. I got a good job, but I didn’t really need to work because of what Grandma left me when she died. She’d saved up $200,000 over the years, plus she left me her house. I sold the house and invested everything smart. I could live off the interest if I wanted to, but I liked having something to do.
And now he was gone, and I was alone. Well, not completely alone. He’d left me everything: the business, the house, his cars, all his money. I’d found his will in his desk drawer. It was simple and clear: “Everything goes to Monica.”
I guess Mom found out about that somehow. That’s probably why she showed up today. Not because she was sad about Dad dying, but because she wanted to know what she could get out of it.
A few days passed after the funeral, and I tried to get back to some kind of normal routine. Normal being a relative term when your whole world just got turned upside down. I had to deal with Dad’s company, figure out what to do with all his assets, and handle the legal stuff that comes with someone dying. I decided not to sell the construction business. Dad had built it from nothing, and it felt wrong to just get rid of it. Plus, it was making good money. Jim, Dad’s deputy, had been with the company for 15 years. He knew the business inside and out, and Dad trusted him completely. So, I made him CEO and kept ownership for myself. It seemed like the right thing to do.
I was in my apartment going through some of Dad’s paperwork when the doorbell rang. It was Tuesday afternoon, around 3:00. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I looked through the peephole before opening the door. It was her. My mother, standing there alone this time. No husband, no kids. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, looking nervous.
I opened the door but didn’t invite her in. “What do you want?”
“Can I come in? Just give me a few minutes.”
Against my better judgment, I stepped aside and let her into my living room. She looked around, taking in the nice furniture, the big windows, the expensive art on the walls. “This is a beautiful place,” she said.
“How did you get my address?”
“I asked around. Some of your father’s distant relatives gave it to me.” Great. So now she was tracking me down through family connections.
“What do you want?” I asked again.
She sat down on my couch without being invited. “Monica, I know you inherited a lot of money from your father. And from your grandmother, too.”
I felt my stomach drop. How the hell did she know about Grandma’s money? “What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re very wealthy now. And I think you should share some of that wealth with your family.”
I stared at her. “My family?”
“Yes. With me and your brothers and sisters. Those three children you met at the funeral. They’re your half-siblings, Monica. They need help with school, with college funds, with basic living expenses.”
I actually laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Are you serious right now?”
“Completely serious. You’re single. You don’t have children of your own to worry about. You have more money than you could ever spend. Meanwhile, I’m struggling to raise three kids on my husband’s salary.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said, sitting down across from her. “You abandoned me when I was seven years old. You left me alone in an empty house for two days. You never called, never wrote, never sent a birthday card, never asked how I was doing for 20 years. And now you want me to give you money?”
She had the decency to look ashamed for about two seconds. Then she straightened up and got defensive. “I never loved your father, Monica. I couldn’t live with him anymore. But I knew he would take care of you. You were always his little princess.”
“You left me because you wanted to run off with your boyfriend, and you didn’t want to be bothered with a kid.”
Her face got red. “That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it? Then why didn’t you fight for custody? Why didn’t you even show up to court?” She didn’t have an answer for that.
“And now,” I continued, “now that Dad’s dead and you found out I inherited his money, suddenly you remember you have a daughter. Suddenly you want a relationship. But really, what you want is half of everything.”
“It’s not about the money,” she said, but her voice wasn’t convincing.
“The hell it isn’t. You didn’t love Dad, but you sure love his money now.”
She tried a different approach. “Monica, those children are innocent in all this. They didn’t do anything wrong. Tommy wants to go to college, but we can’t afford it. Sarah needs braces. Little Mike has learning disabilities and needs special tutoring. They’re your brothers and sisters.”
“No, they’re not. They’re your children with the man you left us for. They’re nothing to me.”
“How can you be so cold?”
“Cold? You want to talk about cold? You left a seven-year-old alone in a house for two days. You never contacted that child for 20 years. And now you show up demanding money. That’s cold.”
She stood up, getting frustrated. “You have millions of dollars, Monica. More than one person needs. I’m asking for help with my children’s education and basic needs.”
“Then ask their father. Ask your husband. Don’t ask the daughter you threw away.”
“Your father turned you against me.”
“My father never said a bad word about you to me. He didn’t have to. Your actions spoke for themselves.”
She was getting desperate now. I could see it in her eyes. “Monica, please. I’m begging you. Just think about it. These kids are struggling, and you could help them with pocket change compared to what you have.”
“You know what’s funny?” I said, walking toward the door. “You keep talking about what a caring mother you are now, how worried you are about your children’s futures. But 20 years ago, you cared so little about your child that you left her alone and terrified for two days.”
“I was young. I made mistakes.”
I opened the door. “I want you to leave.”
“Monica, please—”
“Leave now.”
She walked toward the door, then turned back. “This isn’t over. Those children deserve better.”
“Yeah, they do. They deserve a mother who doesn’t abandon her kids when things get tough.”
After she left, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat on my couch, shaking. I couldn’t believe the nerve of that woman. Twenty years of nothing, and now she wanted half of everything Dad had worked for. I thought about those three kids. I felt bad for them, I really did. It wasn’t their fault their mother was selfish and their father apparently couldn’t provide for them properly. But they weren’t my responsibility. I didn’t owe them anything. Dad had worked his ass off to build the life we had. After Mom left, he could have fallen apart. Instead, he channeled his pain into building something better for us. He earned every dollar he left me. I wasn’t going to let her guilt me into giving it away.
Two weeks later, I got a letter from a law firm I’d never heard of. My hands were shaking as I opened it. It was a lawsuit. My mother was suing me for half of Dad’s estate.
I called my lawyer immediately after getting that lawsuit. His name is David Martinez, and he’d handled Dad’s will and some business contracts over the years. Dad trusted him, so I did, too.
“Monica, I’m sorry to hear about this,” David said when I showed him the papers. “But don’t worry too much. Your mother has no legal grounds to claim any part of your father’s estate.”
“But she’s actually trying to sue me?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean she’ll win. Anyone can file a lawsuit. Winning is a different story. We’ll fight this.”
The lawsuit claimed that Mom deserved half of Dad’s estate because she had been married to him and had helped raise me for seven years. Her lawyers were arguing that she contributed to the family and deserved compensation. It was complete bullshit, but we still had to go through the whole legal process.
The trial started three months later. I was nervous as hell walking into that courtroom. Mom was sitting at the other table with her lawyer, a thin guy in an expensive suit who looked like he thought he was hot shit. She had the nerve to bring her husband and all three kids. They sat in the front row like they were the victims here. The kids kept staring at me with these sad eyes, like I was the villain keeping them from their rightful inheritance.
Mom’s lawyer went first. “Your Honor, my client was married to the deceased for eight years. During that time, she helped raise his daughter and contributed to the household. She deserves her fair share of the marital assets.” Then he started talking about how Mom had “tried to maintain a relationship” with me after the divorce but Dad had “prevented it.” That was when I almost lost it. “She has three children who need financial support for education and basic needs,” the lawyer continued. “Meanwhile, the defendant has inherited millions of dollars that she cannot possibly spend in her lifetime.”
When it was David’s turn, he laid out the real facts. He had copies of the divorce papers, the custody documents, everything. “Your Honor, the plaintiff abandoned her seven-year-old daughter, leaving her alone in a house for two days while her father was away on business. She ran off with her lover and never contacted her daughter again. She didn’t fight for custody, didn’t pay child support, and made no effort to be part of this child’s life for 20 years.” David pulled out bank records, phone records, everything that proved Mom had never tried to contact me. “The plaintiff only appeared in the defendant’s life after learning about the inheritance. This is not about family relationships or fairness. This is about money, pure and simple.”
Then the judge started asking questions. That’s when things got interesting.
“Mrs. Williams,” the judge said to my mother, “why didn’t you contact your daughter when she turned 18 and was no longer under her father’s control?”
Mom shifted in her seat. “I… I thought it was better to let her have a stable life with her father.”
“But you’re here now, claiming you wanted a relationship with her.”
“Yes, Your Honor. I always wanted to be part of her life.”
“Then why did you wait until after her father died and she inherited his estate?”
Mom’s lawyer jumped up. “Objection, Your Honor. The timing of my client’s outreach doesn’t negate her legal rights.”
“I’ll allow the question,” the judge said.
Mom looked flustered. “I heard about the death through relatives and thought it was time to reconnect.”
The judge wasn’t buying it. “Mrs. Williams, why didn’t you provide any financial support to your daughter over the past 20 years? But now you believe she should provide financial support to you?” Mom couldn’t answer that one. She just sat there, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. “And why,” the judge continued, “should the court award you half of an estate that was built entirely after you abandoned your family?”
That’s when Mom lost it. She stood up and started yelling. “She doesn’t need all that money! She’s alone! Nobody cares about her anyway! She’s selfish and cold, just like her father was!”
The whole courtroom went quiet. Even her own kids looked embarrassed. I felt like she’d slapped me. After everything she’d done, she was calling me selfish and cold. She was saying nobody cared about me.
The judge banged his gavel. “Mrs. Williams, sit down and control yourself.” Her lawyer was trying to calm her down, but the damage was done.
The judge looked at all the evidence, looked at Mom, then looked at me. “I find no legal basis for the plaintiff’s claim,” he said. “The defendant inherited this estate through a valid will from her father, who had full legal right to dispose of his assets as he saw fit. The plaintiff abandoned her parental responsibilities 20 years ago and made no effort to be part of her daughter’s life until learning of this inheritance.” He paused and looked directly at my mother. “Furthermore, I believe the defendant is fortunate that such a mother abandoned her, as she clearly deserved a better life than the plaintiff could have provided.”
Mom’s face went white. Her lawyer tried to object, but the judge shut him down. “Case dismissed. The court awards all costs to the defendant.”
As we were leaving the courtroom, Mom pushed past her lawyer and got right in my face. “This isn’t over,” she hissed. “You’ll regret this.”
“Ma’am, you need to back away from my client,” David said firmly. Her husband finally came over and pulled her away, but she kept staring at me with pure hatred in her eyes.
I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong.
A week later, she somehow got my phone number and started calling me. Then she started texting. The messages were crazy, talking about how I was evil, how I’d stolen her children’s future, how God would punish me. I blocked her number, but she got new phones and kept calling from different numbers. Then one day, she showed up at my office. Dad’s construction company had a nice building downtown, and she walked right into the lobby with all three kids. “I want to see Monica!” she yelled at the receptionist. “She’s my daughter, and she’s abandoned her family!”
The poor receptionist didn’t know what to do. I heard the commotion and came out to see what was happening. “You need to leave,” I told Mom.
“These children are hungry!” she screamed. “You have millions, and they’re going without food because of your selfishness!”
The kids looked mortified. Other employees were staring. It was a complete scene. Security came and escorted her out, but the damage was done. My employees were asking questions, and the whole thing was embarrassing as hell.
That’s when I called David again. “We need a restraining order,” I told him.
“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but I think you’re right.”
David filed for the restraining order the next day. We had to go back to court, but this time it was a different judge, a woman in her 50s who looked like she’d seen everything.
“Your Honor,” David said, “my client is being harassed and stalked by her biological mother, who has made threats and disrupted her workplace.” He presented all the evidence: the crazy text messages, the phone records showing dozens of calls from different numbers, witness statements from my office staff about the scene Mom had caused.
Mom’s lawyer tried to argue that she “just wanted a relationship” with her daughter, but the judge wasn’t having it. “Mrs. Williams, you lost your lawsuit against your daughter. That should have been the end of it. Instead, you’ve chosen to harass and intimidate her.”
“She’s my daughter!” Mom yelled. “I have a right to talk to her!”
“You gave up that right 20 years ago when you abandoned her,” the judge said coldly. “And you certainly don’t have the right to stalk and threaten her.”
The judge granted the restraining order. Mom had to stay at least 500 yards away from me, my home, and my office. She couldn’t call me, text me, or contact me through third parties. “If you violate this order, Mrs. Williams, you will be arrested and charged with contempt of court. Do you understand?”
Mom just glared at me from across the courtroom. Her husband looked embarrassed, and the kids looked confused and upset. I almost felt sorry for them. Almost.
That was six months ago. I haven’t heard from Mom since then. I don’t know if she’s still living in the same place, if the kids are doing okay. Honestly, I don’t want to know.
People ask me sometimes if I feel bad about not helping those kids. “They’re innocent,” people say. “They didn’t choose to have a mother like that.” And they’re right. Those kids didn’t do anything wrong. But neither did I. I didn’t ask to be abandoned when I was seven. I didn’t ask for my mother to disappear from my life for 20 years and then show up demanding money.
Dad worked his ass off to build the life we had. He could have fallen apart after Mom left. But instead, he channeled all that pain into making something better. Every dollar he left me, he earned through his own sweat and sacrifice. I’m not going to give that away to a woman who threw me away like garbage.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if Mom had approached me differently. If she’d come to Dad’s funeral and said she was sorry. If she’d asked to have coffee and talk about the past. If she’d acknowledged what she did to me and tried to make amends. But she didn’t do any of that. She saw dollar signs and decided I owed her something. She felt entitled to Dad’s money even though she’d hated him enough to abandon his child.
I think about those kids sometimes—Tommy, Sarah, and Mike. I hope they’re doing okay. I hope they get the education they need and grow up to be better people than their mother. But that’s not my responsibility. My responsibility is to honor Dad’s memory and live the life he wanted me to have. He left me everything because he loved me and trusted me to do the right thing with it.
I’ve kept the construction business running. Jim is doing a great job as CEO, and we’re even expanding into new markets. I’ve made smart investments with the rest of the money. I travel when I want, help causes I care about, and live comfortably without being flashy about it.
I’m dating someone now. His name is Marcus, and he’s a teacher. He doesn’t know about all the money, and I like it that way. He likes me for who I am, not what I inherited. Dad would have liked Marcus. He’s honest and kind, the kind of man who builds things instead of tearing them down.
I think about Dad every day. I visit his grave once a month and tell him about what’s happening with the business, about Marcus, about my life. I know he can’t hear me, but it makes me feel connected to him. The house feels empty sometimes. It’s huge, and it was meant for a family. Maybe someday Marcus and I will fill it with kids of our own. Dad would have loved that.
As for Mom, I don’t think about her much anymore. She’s a stranger to me. We share DNA, but that’s all. Real family is made of more than genetics. Real family shows up when you need them. Real family doesn’t abandon you and then demand payment 20 years later. Dad was my real family. Grandma was my real family. Maybe someday, Marcus will be, too.
The restraining order is still in effect. I keep the paperwork in my desk drawer just in case, but I don’t think I’ll need it. I think Mom finally got the message that I’m not her retirement plan.
I’m not angry anymore. I was for a while, but anger is exhausting. Now, I just feel nothing when I think about her. She’s irrelevant to my life. I have Dad’s business to run, a relationship to nurture, and a future to build. That’s what matters now.
Sometimes people say I should forgive her, that holding grudges is bad for my health. But I’m not holding a grudge. I’m just protecting myself from someone who proved she can’t be trusted. There’s a difference between forgiveness and being stupid. I forgave her a long time ago for my own peace of mind. But forgiveness doesn’t mean I have to let her back into my life or give her my father’s money.