After my 16-year-old daughter Emma died in a car accident, my world shattered. The grief was unbearable—her scent still clung to her hoodie, and the college brochures she’d been so excited about lay untouched on her nightstand. Tom, my ex-husband and Emma’s father, and I decided to honor her dream. We planned to donate her $25,000 college fund to environmental causes she loved.

Then Amber—my 30-year-old stepdaughter who never liked me—showed up. She offered a cold “sorry” before asking what we were doing with Emma’s money. When I told her we were donating it, she scoffed. “You should give it to me. We’re family.” This, from someone who had mocked me for years and barely acknowledged Emma’s existence.

To my shock, my husband Frank sided with her. “That money could change Amber’s life,” he said. “Charity can wait.” It felt like betrayal all over again—Emma wasn’t even cold in the ground, and they were dividing her future like spare change.

I stared Amber down and said, “Tell me why I owe you anything. You didn’t know her. You mocked me. And now you want her money?” When Frank called me “petty,” I stood up and left the room, knowing exactly what I had to do.

That night, I transferred the money to Tom. The next morning, I filed for divorce. “This isn’t about money,” I told Frank. “It’s about respect—and you failed.”

Today, Tom and I run a scholarship in Emma’s name. Her dream lives on—in young women just like her.