I was with Jack for twenty years. We never married, but we built a life together. Three years ago, I walked away after he cheated. Six months later, he married someone else.
I moved on too. I found love again and had a daughter, Iris, with my boyfriend. Jack still sent birthday texts, small reminders of a life we once shared. But when he learned about Iris, he accused me of cheating. I didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say.
Then, out of nowhere, Jack died in a car crash.
Not long after, I received news that left me speechless: he had left his entire $700,000 estate to me. Not to his wife. Not to his children. To me.
His wife, Lauren, called immediately. She demanded the money, insisting it belonged to her children. I understood her anger. I might have felt the same in her place.
I was torn—until I found a letter Jack had written.
In it, he thanked me for standing by him for two decades, even through his worst mistakes. He admitted his flaws and said he trusted me to “do the right thing” with what he left behind. That line stayed with me.
After days of thinking, I made my decision.
I created a trust for his children—$500,000 set aside for them to access when they turn twenty-one. The remaining $200,000 I kept for Iris and myself, a cushion for our future.
Lauren never thanked me. Not at first. But eventually, she called again—this time to apologize. She admitted her anger had blinded her to what I’d done.
Years later, Jack’s AA sponsor reached out. He told me Jack had spoken about me often in meetings—about regret, about gratitude, about wishing he’d done better. The sponsor thanked me for honoring Jack’s final wishes without turning it into a fight.
I also wrote letters to Jack’s children. I told them their father loved them, even if he didn’t always show it well. People are complicated. Love doesn’t always look the way it should.
Now, when I watch Iris playing in the yard, sunlight in her hair, I think about forgiveness. It doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t erase the hurt.
But sometimes, doing the right thing—especially when it’s hard—is worth more than any amount of money.
And peace?
Peace is priceless.
