Before my dad passed, he made me a promise: he’d help me financially. Life had been tough—student loans, rent, and a job that barely covered essentials. He said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” That promise kept me going. When he died, I expected my siblings to honor it. But they didn’t. They said everything should be split equally. I disagreed. This wasn’t just inheritance—it was a commitment.
I reminded them of Dad’s words, but they brushed it off. “We all have needs,” they said. True, but Dad had made a personal vow to me. I wasn’t asking for more—I was asking for what was promised. They accused me of being greedy. I felt betrayed. The grief of losing him was compounded by this fight.
I found documents—emails, notes, even a draft of his will that mentioned helping me with debt. It wasn’t finalized, but it was proof of intent. I brought it to the lawyer. He said it might not hold legally, but it could influence the outcome. My siblings were furious. They said I was manipulating grief for money.
But I stood firm. This wasn’t about greed—it was about trust. Dad knew I was struggling. He wanted to help. I wasn’t taking from them. I was claiming what he set aside for me. I didn’t want to fight, but I wouldn’t back down. I needed that support to survive, and I knew Dad would’ve wanted me to have it.
Eventually, we reached a compromise. I got a portion earmarked for debt relief. It wasn’t everything, but it helped. The tension remains, but I sleep better knowing I honored Dad’s promise. I miss him every day. And I carry his final words like armor: “I’ve got you.”
I’ve learned that grief and money are a volatile mix. But I also learned to speak up, even when it’s uncomfortable. Dad’s promise gave me strength—and I’ll never apologize for holding onto it.
