Losing my dad broke me in ways I can’t even put into words. He was my rock, the one person who always had my back and truly believed I could do anything. When he was gone, I thought the worst was over. Turns out, the real nightmare was just starting. A couple of weeks after the funeral, everything shifted. The same relatives who barely showed up when Dad was sick suddenly couldn’t stay away.
My aunt, who used to hug me and call me “my girl”, started looking through me like I was a stranger. My uncles kept dropping by “to help”, but their eyes were on the house, the little piece of land, and whatever was left in Dad’s account.
I started catching whispers at family gatherings, spotting hushed meetings I wasn’t invited to, and noticing papers being passed around when they thought I wasn’t looking. Then I found out they were actually trying to sneak the property into one of their names before probate even started.
The day they sat me down and said, “You’re too young for this; let the adults handle it,” something inside me snapped. My own blood treating me like I didn’t belong, like Dad’s wishes meant nothing. I felt completely alone, like vultures were picking apart everything he worked for. That night I cried until there was nothing left. Grieving my father was painful, but fighting my own family for what he wanted me to have? That nearly destroyed me. Read more https://drbokko.com/?p=35246
