When my ex-wife, Clara, demanded the money I saved for our late son be given to her stepson, I thought I must have misheard her. But as I sat there, across from her and her smug new husband, Thomas, I realized this wasn't just about money. It was about defending my son's legacy.

I sat in Benjamin’s room, and the silence was deafening. His things were scattered around—books, medals, a half-finished drawing left on the desk. Benjamin had always loved to draw, whenever he wasn’t buried in a book or solving a complicated puzzle that made my head spin.

"You were too smart for me, kid," I whispered, picking up a photo frame from his nightstand. He had that crooked grin, the one he'd flash whenever he thought he outsmarted me. Most of the time, he did.

This picture was taken just before Benjamin got into Stanford. I still couldn’t believe it. But he never got to go. The drunk driver made sure of that.

I rubbed my temples and sighed, feeling the weight of grief hit me like a tidal wave. Some days, I could almost function. Other days, like today, it swallowed me whole.

A knock at the door brought me back to reality. Clara. She’d left me a voicemail earlier: “We need to talk about Benjamin’s fund,” she had said. Her voice always sounded too sweet, too rehearsed. I didn’t call back, but now she was here.

I opened the door, and she stepped inside. Dressed sharply as usual, but her eyes were cold—calculating.

"Can I come in?" Clara asked, stepping past me before I could respond.

I sighed and gestured toward the living room. "Make it quick."

She sat down, making herself comfortable. "Look," she began, her tone annoyingly casual, as though this were no big deal, "we know Benjamin had a college fund."

I instantly knew where this was going. "You're kidding, right?"

Clara leaned forward, a smirk playing on her lips. "Think about it. The money’s just sitting there. Why not put it to good use? Ryan could really benefit."

"That money was for Benjamin," I snapped, my voice rising before I could stop it. "It’s not for your stepson."

Clara gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. "Don’t be like this. Ryan’s family too."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Family? Benjamin barely knew him. You barely knew Benjamin."

Her face flushed, but she didn’t deny it. "Let’s meet for coffee tomorrow and discuss it. You, Thomas, and me."

That evening, the memory of that conversation haunted me as I sat back down in Benjamin’s room. I looked around, my heart aching. How did we get here?

Benjamin had always been mine to raise. Clara left when he was 13, too scared of the responsibility. "It’s better for him this way," she’d said, like she was doing us both a favor.

For years, it was just me and Benjamin. He was my world, and I was his. I’d wake up early to make his lunch, help him with homework after school, and cheer for him at his games. Clara didn’t bother. She’d send a card for his birthday, sometimes—no gifts, just a card with her name scribbled at the bottom.

That summer with Clara and Thomas had been difficult. Benjamin wanted to bond with them, even though I didn’t trust it. When he came back, he was quieter. One night, I finally got him to talk.

"They don’t care about me, Dad," he whispered. "Thomas said I’m not his responsibility, so I had cereal for dinner every night."

I clenched my fists but said nothing. I didn’t want to make it worse. But I never sent him back.

Benjamin never seemed to mind, or at least he never showed it. He loved school, loved dreaming about the future. "One day, Dad," he would say, "we’re going to go to Italy. We’ll see the art museums, the ancient ruins, and don’t forget the gelato!"

"Gelato?" I’d laugh. "A little young for that, don’t you think?"

"It’s research," he’d reply with a grin. "Stanford’s going to love me."

And they did. I remember the day the acceptance letter came. He opened it at the kitchen table, his hands shaking, and then he yelled so loud I thought the neighbors might call the cops. I’ve never been prouder of him. Now, it was all gone.

That night, I hardly slept, dreading the conversation with Clara.

The next morning, I walked into the coffee shop and spotted them immediately. Clara was scrolling through her phone, looking bored. Thomas sat across from her, stirring his coffee loudly. They didn’t even notice me at first.

I stood by their table. "Let’s get this over with."

Clara looked up, her practiced smile snapping into place. "Oh, good. You’re here. Sit down." She motioned like she was doing me a favor.

I slid into the chair across from them, saying nothing. I wanted them to speak first.

Thomas leaned back, his smug grin still firmly in place. "We appreciate you meeting with us. We know this isn’t easy."

I raised an eyebrow. "No, it’s not."

Clara jumped in, her voice annoyingly sweet. "We just think... it’s the right thing to do, you know? Benjamin’s fund—it’s not being used. And Ryan, well, he’s got so much potential."

Thomas nodded, folding his arms. "College is expensive, man. You of all people should understand that. Why let that money sit there when it could actually help someone?"

"Someone?" I repeated, my voice low. "You mean your stepson?"

Clara sighed dramatically, like I was making this difficult. "Ryan’s part of the family. Benjamin would have wanted to help."

"Don’t you dare speak for Benjamin," I snapped. "He barely knew Ryan. And let’s not pretend you cared about Benjamin, either."

Clara stiffened, her smile faltering. "That’s not fair."

"No?" I leaned forward, keeping my voice steady. "Let’s talk about fair. Fair is raising a child, showing up for them, being there when it counts. I did that for Benjamin. You didn’t. You sent him to me because you were too busy with your 'new family.' And now you think you’re entitled to his legacy?"

Thomas’ smug grin cracked for a moment. He recovered quickly. "Look, it’s not about entitlement. It’s about doing the right thing."

"The right thing?" I laughed bitterly. "Like the summer Benjamin stayed with you? Remember that? Fourteen years old, and you wouldn’t even buy him dinner. You let him eat cereal while you and Clara had steak."

Thomas’ face turned red, but he stayed silent.

"That’s not true," Clara said quickly, her voice shaking. "You’re twisting things."

"No, I’m not," I retorted. "Benjamin told me himself. He tried to connect with you two. He wanted to believe you cared. But you didn’t."

Thomas slammed his coffee cup down. "You’re being ridiculous. Do you know how hard it is to raise a kid these days?"

"I do," I shot back. "I raised Benjamin without a dime from either of you. So don’t you dare lecture me."

The coffee shop fell silent. People were staring, but I didn’t care. I stood, glaring at both of them. "You don’t deserve a cent of that fund. It’s not yours. It never will be."

Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out.

Back home, I sat once again in Benjamin’s room. The confrontation replayed in my mind, but it didn’t make the ache in my chest any lighter.

I picked up his photo from the desk—the one of us on his birthday. "They don’t get it, buddy," I said softly. "They never did."

I looked around his room, taking in the books, the drawings, the little pieces of him that still felt so alive here. My eyes landed on the map of Europe tacked to his wall. Italy was circled in bright red marker.

"We were supposed to go," I whispered. "You and me. The museums, the ruins, the gelato." I chuckled softly, my voice breaking. "You really had it all planned out."

The ache in my chest deepened, but then something shifted. A new thought, a new resolve.

I opened my laptop and logged into the college fund account. As I stared at the balance, I knew what to do. That money wasn’t for Ryan. It wasn’t for anyone else. It was for Benjamin. For us.

"I'm doing it," I said aloud. "Italy. Just like we said."

A week later, I was on a plane, Benjamin’s photo tucked safely in my jacket pocket. The seat beside me was empty, but it didn’t feel that way. I gripped the armrest as the plane lifted off, my heart pounding.

"Hope you’re here with me, kid," I whispered, glancing at his picture.

The trip was everything we had dreamed of. I walked through grand museums, stood in awe of towering ruins, and even visited a gelato shop. I imagined Benjamin’s crooked grin, his endless questions at every stop.

On the last night, I sat by a canal, the city lights reflecting on the water. I pulled out Benjamin’s photo and held it up to the view.

"This is for you," I said quietly, my voice breaking for the first time in years. "This is for you, Benjamin. You were always the best part of my life."

And in that moment, for the first time since I lost him, I felt a peace I hadn’t thought possible.