It’s been five years since my husband Martin and I lost our son, Robert. Before he was even born, Martin’s parents started a college fund for him, and we continued adding to it over the years — every birthday check, every bonus, every spare dollar. After Robert passed, we never touched the account. It became sacred, a quiet monument to the future he never got to have.
Recently, we hosted a small family dinner for Martin’s birthday. That’s when Amber, my sister-in-law, made an unexpected and hurtful demand. In front of everyone, she asked us to give Robert’s college fund to her son, Steven. Her reasoning? That we weren’t having another child, and the money was “just sitting there.” Her words erased the grief we’ve carried and disrespected the memory of our son.
Before we could even speak, Martin’s father stepped in. He reminded Amber that Steven had been given his own college fund — one she had already spent years ago on a vacation. The fund we still held was built with love and meant for Robert’s dreams. It wasn’t spare change to be redistributed; it was a piece of our son’s legacy. Asking for it felt like asking us to let go of the last part of him we could hold onto.
Later that night, Amber texted me, calling me selfish. I didn’t respond. Because real love doesn’t demand or guilt — it honors, protects, and remembers. That college fund will stay where it is, in Robert’s name, untouched. And if the day comes when another child joins our lives, it may help them reach for the stars — just like their big brother once dreamed.