When my ex-wife demanded the money I saved for our late son be given to her stepson, I thought grief had dulled my hearing.But as I sat across from her and her smug husband, their audacity crystal clear, I realized this wasn’t just about money — it was about defending my son’s legacy.
I sat on Peter’s bed, and the room was too quiet now. His things were everywhere.
Books, medals, a half-finished sketch he’d left on the desk. Peter loved to draw when he wasn’t busy reading or figuring out some complicated problem that made my head spin.
“You were too smart for me, kid,” I muttered, picking up a photo frame from his nightstand. He had that crooked grin, the one he’d flash whenever he thought he was outsmarting me. He usually was. Read more below
