My mom was my everything, and when cancer took her, she left me memories and a lifeline — a trust fund meant for my future. When my dad greedily started using it for his stepdaughter, it felt like he was erasing Mom’s memory piece by piece. I couldn’t let him take what was left of her or me.
There’s this thing about losing someone you love — you carry the weight of it forever, even if it doesn’t show. I lost my mom to breast cancer when I was ten. One day, she was there, brushing my hair and humming to some old rock song, and the next, she was gone. Just like that.
A grieving young woman mourning before a loved one’s grave | Source: Freepik
I remember our last conversation like it was yesterday. She was sitting on her hospital bed, her fingers weakly running through my hair.
“Promise me something, baby girl,” she whispered.
“Anything, Mom,” I said, trying to hold back my tears.
“Promise me you’ll never let anyone dim your light. You’re so special, Iris. So incredibly special.”
A sad woman sitting on a hospital bed | Source: Pexels
She didn’t leave me with much — just a few photos, the smell of her favorite vanilla perfume lingering on her scarves, and a trust fund she set up for me before she passed.
“This is for Iris,” she’d told my dad and my grandparents. “For her education and her future. Promise me she’ll always have it.”
They promised. My dad promised too. But promises don’t mean much when someone’s not around to hold you to them.
A trust agreement on a table | Source: Midjourney
My dad remarried two years later. His new wife, Marianne, came with her own baggage: a twelve-year-old daughter named Emily.
I didn’t mind at first. Mom was gone, and I thought maybe this could be a new chapter.
But I quickly learned how things would work in our house: Emily first, Marianne second, Dad somewhere in the mix, and me? Not even in the picture!
An annoyed girl | Source: Pexels
It started small. Once, our fridge and shower broke at the same time. Dad took money from the trust fund without my permission to fix them.
“I’ll pay it back,” he said like it was no big deal. A week later, he bought Emily a MacBook for her birthday. On mine? A $100 gift card.
It wasn’t the money — it was the message.
Over the years, he kept dipping into the fund for car repairs, home renovations, and things that had nothing to do with me. “It’s just temporary,” he’d always say. But the withdrawals kept piling up, and the “temporary” excuses wore thin.
A frustrated teenage girl | Source: Pexels
By the time I got to college, I didn’t need the money for tuition because of my scholarship. That didn’t stop him from finding new ways to use it, though. Every time I brought it up, he brushed me off. “Don’t stress, Iris. It’s safe.”
Safe. Right.
“You understand, don’t you, Iris?” That’s what he’d always say when something I needed got pushed aside for Emily. New clothes for her pageant? Sure. My vacation? Maybe next year. It stung, but I swallowed it down.
But the swallowing got harder.
I’ll never forget the day I realized how much of Mom’s trust fund was gone. It was late one night during my final year of college. I’d overheard Emily talking to her friends about how “Daddy” was covering the cost of her new car. My stomach twisted as I thought about the fund.
A delighted woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Can you believe it?” Emily squealed through the thin walls. “A brand new BMW! Daddy said I deserve it for making it to nationals!”
My hands trembled as I sat at my desk, memories of Mom’s words echoing in my head: “This is for Iris. For her future.”
It had been years since I’d seen the account. My dad had told me not to “stress over it.” But now, something felt off, and I decided to check it.
I logged into the account, and my heart sank. The numbers didn’t make sense. Thousands were missing. Pageant fees. A water heater. Emily’s car. Every withdrawal was like a punch in the gut.
A woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels
By the time I closed my laptop, my hands were shaking. This wasn’t just money. It was Mom’s legacy. She’d trusted Dad to protect it, and he’d drained it like it was his personal wallet.
I called my grandma the next morning.
“Sweetheart,” she said after I told her everything. “This has gone on long enough. You have to stand up to him.”
“I can’t breathe, Grandma,” I sobbed into the phone. “It feels like he’s erasing Mom piece by piece. Like he’s erasing ME.”
“Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered. “Your mother would be furious right now. She fought so hard to make sure you’d be taken care of.”
“I know,” I cried, my throat tight. “I trusted when he said he’d put the money back. But he’s only been draining Mom’s hard-earned money.”
A worried older woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Your mother was a fighter,” Grandma added. “And so are you. It’s time to show them that.”
“I will when the right time comes,” I said, my heart heavy as I hung up.
It all came to a head a week later. Graduation was around the corner, and I was finally ready to celebrate after four years of sleepless nights and busted printer deadlines. I called Dad and told him I was graduating on December 20th. I could hear the pause on the other end of the line, long enough for my stomach to drop.
A woman calling her father | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, December 20th?” he said finally. “That’s when Emily’s pageant is. We’ve already made plans.”
“You’re missing my graduation for a pageant?”
“Ah, c’mon, Iris. Graduation’s not a big deal. You’ll have more of those. But this pageant? It’s her chance to shine.”
I didn’t even realize I was gripping my phone so hard until my fingers started to hurt. “You’re kidding, right?”
A woman engrossed in a phonecall | Source: Pexels
I heard Marianne chime in, her tone dripping with condescension from the background. “Don’t be selfish, Iris. Graduations happen all the time. Emily’s pageant is once-in-a-lifetime.”
“Selfish?” I spat. “Dad, this isn’t about being selfish. This is about you choosing Emily over me. Again.”
“That’s not fair —” he protested.
“Not fair? You want to talk about fair? When was the last time you chose me? When was the last time you even saw me?”
A man on a phonecall | Source: Midjourney
“Of course I see you, Iris.”
“No, you DON’T!” The words burst out of me like a dam breaking. “You see Emily. You see her pageants and her dance recitals and her EVERYTHING. But me? I’m just the ghost in the corner. Mom’s leftover that you don’t know what to do with.”
“Iris, that’s enough!”
“No, it’s not enough! It’s never been enough!” I cried, years of hurt pouring out. “Do you know what Mom’s last words to me were? She made me promise not to let anyone dim my light. But you’ve been doing exactly that for years, Dad. Years!”
A furious woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
He sighed like I was being unreasonable. “We’ll celebrate when we’re back. I promise.”
The word “promise” hit me like a slap. “Your promises don’t mean anything anymore,” I whispered. “They haven’t since Mom died.”
I hung up without saying goodbye. My grandparents, at least, showed up for my graduation. Seeing their proud faces in the crowd made the day feel a little less lonely. They hugged me so tightly afterward, reminding me that someone still cared. I was happy, but I had one last thing to do.
A heartbroken woman | Source: Midjourney
The next day, I walked into Dad’s office with the account statements in hand. My stomach was doing backflips, but I couldn’t let that stop me.
“We need to talk,” I said, shutting the door behind me and dropping the papers on his desk.
Dad looked up from his computer, frowning. “What’s this?”
“The trust fund statement. Mom’s trust fund. The one you’ve been draining for years.”
His face paled, but he tried to play it off. “Iris, come on. Everything I’ve spent was for the family. You’ve never needed it. You had a scholarship.”
“That money wasn’t for the family,” I cut in. “It was for ME. For MY future. And you spent it on Emily. Don’t even try to deny it. The statements don’t lie.”
A stack of documents on a table | Source: Midjourney
“You don’t understand what it’s like,” he stood up, his voice rising. “Being a father, trying to blend two families —”
“And you don’t understand what it’s like watching your father erase every trace of your mother!” I shot back. “That money was the last thing she could give me, and you treated it like your personal ATM!”
He leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening. “I did what I had to do.”
“No,” I said, standing my ground. “You did what was convenient for you. And now you’re going to pay it back. Every penny.”
His laugh was bitter. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll sue you.”
A woman crossing her arms and pointing her finger at someone | Source: Pexels
The room went silent. For the first time in my life, I saw real fear in his eyes.
“You wouldn’t,” he said finally.
“Mom always said I had her backbone,” I replied. “Maybe it’s time you remembered that.”
The fallout was as messy as I expected. My stepmom and stepsister called me, yelling through the phone. “How could you do this, Iris?” Marianne’s voice was shrill like I had personally burned their house down.
“Do what?” I said, gripping my phone tighter. “Stand up for myself? Demand the respect I’ve never gotten from you people?”
An annoyed senior woman | Source: Midjourney
“Don’t make this about you,” she snapped. “You’re punishing us because we couldn’t be in two places at once. You know how much Emily’s pageant meant to her!”
“And my graduation didn’t mean anything to you,” I fired back. “I’ve had enough, Marianne. I’m done.”
“How dare you? After everything we’ve done for you?”
“Done for me?” I laughed hollowly. “What exactly have you done except try to replace everything about Mom?”
A young woman laughing | Source: Midjourney
“I tried to be a mother to you!”
“No,” I snapped. “You tried to erase my mother. There’s a difference.”
She called me a “selfish” brat. But I didn’t back down.
Under the U.S. law, she and Dad had no leg to stand on. My grandparents helped me draft the legal documents, and by the time I handed them over, Dad knew he was out of options.
A month later, the money was back in my account. They’d taken out loans to do it, but that wasn’t my problem. I moved out the next week and settled into my grandparents’ house temporarily. It felt good to be somewhere warm and safe for once.
A woman with a suitcase and bag | Source: Pexels
“You’ve always been stronger than you think, Iris,” Grandma said one night as we sat on the porch. She wrapped her cardigan around my shoulders, and it smelled like Mom’s vanilla perfume.
“I didn’t feel strong,” I admitted, staring at the stars. “I just felt angry.”
“Sometimes, anger is what we need to get moving,” she said with a smile. “Your mother… she knew this might happen, you know. That’s why she made us promise to watch over you.”
“She did?”
“Oh yes. She said, ‘My Iris might bend, but she’ll never break.’ She knew exactly who you were, sweetheart.”
I handed her a check the next day, a portion of the repaid money. She tried to refuse it, but I insisted. “You and Grandpa have done more for me than anyone else ever has. Please. Let me do this.”
A woman holding a check | Source: Midjourney
She hugged me so tightly that I thought I might break. “We’re so proud of you. And your mom… oh, she would be over the moon.”
With the rest of the money, I enrolled in grad school and got my own apartment. It wasn’t fancy, but it was mine.
One night, as I unpacked some boxes, I came across an old photo of Mom and me. She was holding me in her lap, her smile soft and warm.
“I did it, Mom,” I whispered, running my fingers over the photo. “I kept my promise. I didn’t let them dim my light.”
A woman holding an old photograph | Source: Midjourney
My phone buzzed with a message from Dad. But I didn’t open it.
Instead, I texted Grandma: “I think I’m finally free.”
Her reply was immediate: “You are, sweetheart. You are. Your mother is probably dancing in heaven right now.”
I set the phone aside and smiled, my eyes misty. For the first time in years, I felt like I was finally living for me. Living how Mom had always wanted me to… bright and unafraid.
An emotional young woman | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
I Asked a Friend to Repair My Husband’s Phone — What He Found Inside Made My Blood Boil
When Denise’s husband tells her his phone is broken, she takes it to an old college buddy for repairs. But when she picks up the phone later, her friend shows her a note inside that proves her husband is hiding a dark secret.
I never would’ve imagined that a lost pair of earbuds would lead me to the most devastating discovery of my life.
There I was, dressed and ready for my morning jog when I realized I must’ve lost my earbuds in the Uber that brought my husband, Andrew, and me home the previous evening. I rushed into the kitchen, where Andy was making coffee.
“Babe, give me your phone, please?” I held out my hand. “I need to look at your call history.”
A man with a guilty expression | Source: Pexels
Andrew went pale as a sheet. “No, you can’t,” he replied quickly.
Now, I’m not going to claim Andy and I have a perfect marriage. We argue and sometimes get on each other’s nerves, but that’s normal, right? On this occasion, something about his response raised a red flag.
“Why not?” I asked.
“It’s… dead.” He looked away as he replied, stirring his coffee like it was the most important thing in the world. “I, uh, dropped it this morning.”
A woman staring forward | Source: Pexels
It was so obvious he was lying that I was speechless for a minute. I didn’t understand what was going on. Then I started thinking about all the times he’d come home late recently.
I also noticed strange appointments in his calendar when I double-checked the date for his parents’ upcoming anniversary celebration. It seemed so obvious in hindsight: Andrew was hiding something from me.
“Where is it now?” I asked. “I can drop it off to get repaired on my way to work, if you like?”
A tense couple | Source: Pexels
Andrew hesitantly went into the bedroom to fetch his phone. It seemed to take ages, but finally, he handed me his phone.
It was indeed dead, the screen as black as night. I tried turning it on while I was on the subway, but it seemed Andrew had been telling the truth.
I should’ve been relieved, but my suspicions from earlier still nagged at me as I entered the repair shop. My old college buddy, Mike, owned the place. He greeted me warmly as I approached the counter.
A woman speaks to a shop assistant | Source: Pexels
“Hey, Mike. Can you take a look at this?” I set the phone down in front of him.
Mike took the phone and turned it over in his hands. “Sure thing, Denise, I’ll let you know what I find.”
The day dragged on at work, my mind a whirl of worries. By the time I got off, there was a message from Mike waiting for me.
“Hey, can you come by the shop? There’s something you need to see.”
Woman walking on the street while speaking on her phone | Source: Pexels
My stomach churned as I walked into Mike’s shop. He looked up from the counter, a serious expression on his face.
“Let’s go to the back,” Mike said.
My heart pounded as I followed him to a small room. Mike closed the door behind us, then handed me Andrew’s phone, now powered on and functional. But there was more.
“I found this inside the phone,” he said, passing me a small folded note.
With trembling hands, I unfolded the paper.
A woman holding a notepad | Source: Pexels
Scrawled in Andrew’s handwriting, it read: “Please don’t fix this phone, say it’s beyond repair. Email me, I will send you money for it. Thanks!”
I felt like the ground had fallen away beneath me. “What the heck?” I muttered, “Why would he…”
I looked at Mike, but he raised his hands. “I didn’t email him, and I didn’t look at any personal stuff on the device either.” He let out a sigh and looked sadly at me. “But he obviously has something to hide.”
An earnest man | Source: Pexels
I know he meant to be kind, but his words felt like a slap in the face.
I thanked Mike, paid him, and left in a hurry. Once I was seated on the train home, I pulled out Andrew’s phone. He’d gone to such lengths to keep me from seeing his call history, but why?
My hands clenched into fists as the most obvious answer sprang to mind: Andrew was cheating on me.
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
So, I was all fired up as I started scrolling through phone numbers. My imagination was already filling up with various ways to get revenge on him, so what I found caught me completely off guard.
Most calls were to a number labeled “Dr. Whitman,” and several others marked “Hospital.”
“What the heck…” I muttered, clicking on the messages next. They were filled with appointment confirmations, test results, and reminders for follow-ups.
My mind raced, trying to piece together what this could mean.
A woman scrolling on a smart phone | Source: Pexels
Was Andrew sick? I tapped into his photo gallery, and my worst fears were confirmed. Scans, x-rays, and medical documents filled the screen. Each image painted a grim picture of a long, hidden battle with illness.
Andrew wasn’t cheating; he was sick, and he’d kept it from me all this time. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I quickly wiped them away.
The rest of the subway ride felt like an eternity. My mind replayed every moment from the past few months, every late night, every strange appointment.
A crying woman | Source: Pexels
Feelings of anger, sorrow, and guilt cycled through me. Why hadn’t he told me? How could he go through this alone?
I took a deep breath as I approached our home, feeling the weight of Andrew’s secret pressing down on my chest. Fresh tears stung at my eyes, but I clenched my jaw and kept moving.
When I finally walked through the front door, Andrew was sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine. He looked up, and his face fell when he saw the phone in my hand.
Man sitting on a sofa | Source: Pexels
“You got it fixed?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
I nodded. “Andrew, we need to talk.”
He looked away, the dread evident in his posture. I sat beside him, taking his hand in mine. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered, my voice breaking.
Andrew sighed, tears forming in his own eyes. “I didn’t want you to worry. I wanted to protect you, to keep our life normal for as long as possible.”
Couple seated on a sofa | Source: Pexels
“Protect me?” I echoed, my voice rising. “How could you think this would protect me? Finding out like this feels like a betrayal.”
“I’m sorry, Denise,” he said, his voice cracking. “I thought I could handle it on my own. I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”
“We’re supposed to share our lives, Andrew,” I snapped. “The good and the bad. How could you think this isn’t my problem too?”
He hung his head, silent tears streaming down his face.
Sad and serious man | Source: Pexels
“I know I should have told you,” he whispered. “But I was so scared. I didn’t want you to see me as… broken.”
My heart ached as I watched Andrew hang his head and turn away. I closed the gap between us, placing my arms around him as I tried to make sense of it all.
“Andrew, I love you,” I said. “Nothing will ever change that. But I need you to trust me. We’re in this together, remember?”
Close up of a woman with tear-filled eyes | Source: Pexels
He nodded, squeezing my hand tightly. “I’m so sorry, Denise. I promise, no more secrets.”
I held him tight as I felt his body shake with sobs. “We’ll get through this,” I whispered. “Together. But I need you to tell me what the doctors found.”
Andrew let out a shaky breath. He wiped his tears as he turned to face me and said two words that changed my life forever.
Couple seated on a sofa having a conversation | Source: Pexels
“Lung cancer.” Andrew’s lower lip quivered as he attempted a brave smile. “It’s under control for now, but it’s not good, Denise.”
For a long while, we just sat there, holding each other. The weight of his secret was still heavy, but sharing it made it a little easier to bear. We talked late into the night about his diagnosis, his fears, and what we needed to do next.
It was going to be a long road, but at least we’d be walking it together.
A couple hugging | Source: Pexels
The next morning, we made an appointment with Dr. Whitman. As we sat in the waiting room, Andrew reached for my hand.
“Thank you for not giving up on me,” he said softly.
I looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability and strength there. “We’re a team, remember? I’m not going anywhere.”
Couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
He smiled, a real smile this time, and I couldn’t help but smile back. Despite all the drama and heartache, I knew then that no matter what happened next, we’d be okay.
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