My daughter, Sophia, has always lived in comfort, never knowing what true hardship feels like. Her late husband, Daniel, was a businessman. Not the wealthiest in the country, but successful enough to give his family everything they could ever need. He built a beautiful home in the countryside, took care of Sophia and their daughter, never letting them feel deprived of anything. Luxurious vacations, designer clothes, fine dining—she lived a life many could only dream of.
But life wasn’t always perfect between them. In the early years of their marriage, they had their struggles. At one point, they even separated for nearly a year. I thought it was over for good, but somehow, they found their way back to each other, rebuilding their family, restoring what had been broken.
Daniel was a good man. He wasn’t just a loving husband and father—he also helped me. After my divorce from Sophia’s mother, I spent years struggling to provide for my daughter, unable to focus on my personal life. It wasn’t until Sophia was grown and stable that I could finally think about myself. Before that, we lived in poverty, constantly making do with the bare minimum.
I couldn’t give her what other girls had—fancy clothes, the latest gadgets, vacations abroad. She had to make do with a simple, outdated phone while her classmates flaunted the newest models. And they mocked her for it.
I saw how much it hurt her, but there was nothing I could do. My salary was barely enough to get by, and even when I managed to find extra work, it never made a real difference.
When Sophia introduced me to Daniel, I was shocked. He was clearly from a wealthy family, ambitious, already building his own business. And then there was us—barely scraping by. But never once did he make us feel inferior.
His family welcomed us with open arms. They paid for the wedding, made sure I never felt like an outsider. His mother even introduced me to guests, proudly saying, “This is Sophia’s father—our family.” It was heartwarming.
We all got along well—until tragedy struck. Daniel had been raised by his grandparents, and one day, both of them were killed in a car accident.
That loss changed him. He withdrew into himself, became quieter. He still cared for his family, still worked hard, but there was something broken inside him. He was wise with the inheritance, though—he invested part of it into his business, saved the rest.
But I believe the grief never truly left him. A few years later, when my granddaughter, Emily, turned fifteen, Daniel fell ill. The disease took him so fast it felt unreal.
After his passing, everything he had built was left in Sophia’s hands. And that’s when the nightmare began. Instead of protecting and growing his legacy, she started spending recklessly. Endless vacations, expensive shopping sprees, lavish parties—as if she was trying to drown out the pain, not realizing she was destroying not just herself but also Emily’s future.
I tried reasoning with her, telling her that Emily would need financial security, a good education, a stable foundation for the future. But Sophia just laughed it off. “I’m tired,” she said. “For once, I want to live for myself.”
And then she told me something that shook me to my core.
She blamed me for her childhood struggles. She told me how much she had suffered, how she had always felt like an outsider among her wealthier friends, how she had envied them. And then she said the words that still echo in my mind:
“The only thing that matters is finding the right man to marry.”
She truly believed that if Emily found a husband like Daniel, she would be fine. If she didn’t—well, that was her problem.
I stood there, staring at my own daughter, unable to believe what I was hearing. Was this really my child, the little girl I had worked so hard for, sacrificed so much for?
I know I can’t change her now. I will support Emily as much as I can, but my resources are limited.
Meanwhile, Sophia is racing toward disaster. She has decided to sell Daniel’s business and use the money to open… a wellness spa.
I already know how this story ends. As long as there’s money, it will survive. The moment the funds run out, everything will collapse.
But she refuses to listen to me.
And for the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do.
