When Greg suggested we use Ava’s college savings — money her late father set aside — to pay for his adult daughter’s wedding, I was floored. His arrogant assumption, combined with Becca’s quiet expectation, left me speechless. I nodded calmly, but inside, a different plan was forming.
I remarried six years ago, fully aware that blending families would be complicated.
Ava was only ten then, still grieving the loss of her father a year earlier.
David was a quiet, grounded man who showed love through action — early morning pancakes, quiet sacrifices, and a college fund he carefully built to give Ava the kind of future he never had.
That money was his last gift to her — his way of keeping doors open even after he was gone.
Blending families wasn’t easy, and it never really clicked.
Greg’s daughter, Becca, was already 20 when we married. She never said anything cruel outright — she was too calculating for that.
Instead, she distanced herself with cold silences and stiff conversation, making it painfully clear she didn’t see us as family.
I tried to connect with her. Manicure invites, shopping outings — always declined.
Ava, too, reached out, trying to build a bond with her step-sister, but Becca shut every door. We weren’t family. We were just… there. She only acknowledged us when she needed something.
Then came last Wednesday’s dinner.
Greg put down his fork, his voice calm in that unnerving way that lets you know something bad is coming.
“So… Becca’s wedding is approaching,” he said, dabbing his mouth like he was delivering a speech. “I’ve already contributed $10,000, but we still need another $30,000.”
I stared at him, already bracing myself.
Across the table, Ava looked up from her mashed potatoes, mid-sentence about college prep and chemistry — the kind of kid who thinks big and plans far. David’s daughter through and through.
Then Greg said it.
“We could just pull it from Ava’s college fund. She’s only 16. And hey — families help each other out.”
Time seemed to freeze.
Family helps family — as if Becca had ever acted like Ava’s sister.
As if Ava’s future should take a back seat to Becca’s Pinterest-perfect wedding.
The kitchen noises faded. Becca sat there with arms folded, full of smug expectation — like this was all prearranged.
Had they talked about this behind my back? Were they already counting David’s money as theirs?
My heart pounded, but I kept my tone calm…