Grief is supposed to bring families together, but in my case, it did just the opposite.
I’d barely buried my mother when my father started making changes—ones I never saw coming.
But what my father didn’t know was that my mother had left behind one last surprise.
I was nineteen when my mother d.ied. It happened fast, too fast. One moment she was laughing at a silly reality show, and the next she was too weak to lift a spoon. Cancer doesn’t wait for goodbyes. Neither did my father.
Mom was everything warm and good in our house, and wherever she went, Peanut followed. That little French Bulldog was glued to her side, her fur shadow. When the illness took hold, Peanut barely left her bed, snuggling up to her as if he could keep her here just by being near.
I tried to do the same, but unlike Peanut, I had to eat, sleep, and pretend my father wasn’t erasing her before she was even gone.
He never loved her, not the way she deserved. I never saw him hold her hand, bring her flowers, or even look at her the way a husband should. And in those last days, he barely pretended.
When the doctors told us it was only a matter of time, he just nodded. No tears. No breaking down. Just nodded, as if he’d been told the dishwasher needed fixing.
“I don’t want to go,” I whispered, clutching the hem of the black dress my cousin had lent me. It smelled of lavender and someone else’s life.
“You have to go,” my father murmured, straightening his tie in the hall mirror. His voice was flat, as if we were headed to a business meeting, not my mother’s funeral.
I swallowed. “Peanut should come.”
He sighed, exasperated. “She’s a dog, not a person.”
“She was Mom’s dog.”
“And Mom’s gone.”
The words knocked the air out of my lungs. I felt Peanut’s little body press against my leg, warm and shivering. I bent down, scratching her behind the ears. “I won’t be long, okay?”
She licked my fingers.
The funeral was a blur of murmured condolences and stiff hugs. Strangers told me I was “so strong,” but I didn’t feel strong. I felt hollow. My father barely spoke, just nodded as if checking off a to-do list. When we got home, he took off his tie and threw it on the counter.
“That’s it,” he said.
“That’s it?” I snapped. “Mom just died, and you’re acting like…”
“Like what?” She turned, her eyes cold. “Like I have to keep going? Because I do. And so do you.”
Peanut whimpered at my feet. I picked her up and pressed my face into her fur. “I’m going to bed.”
“Take that thing with you,” she murmured, taking a beer from the fridge.
That night I barely slept. Peanut curled up next to me, breathing softly. For the first time since Mom died, I felt something resembling safe.
Until the next day.
I came home and there was only silence. No little paws clicking against the floor. No excited snorting. Just the sound of my dad opening another beer.
Something was wrong.
“Peanut?” I called, dropping the bag. My heart was already racing. “Peanut!”
Nothing.
I turned to my dad. He sat in his usual spot, feet up, eyes fixed on the television. As if nothing had changed.
“Where’s Peanut?” I asked, my voice unsteady.
He didn’t even look up. “I got rid of her.”
The world tilted. My skin went cold. “What?”
“She’s gone,” he said, taking a slow sip. “Not my problem anymore.”
I couldn’t breathe. The words didn’t make sense, as if he were speaking another language. “What do you mean, gone? Where is she?”
Finally, he looked at me, his eyes dull. “In a shelter somewhere.” He shrugged, as if he were talking about an old chair he no longer needed. “Better there than in my house.”
My body moved before my brain did. I started running.
Out the door. Down the street. To the car.
I could barely remember the journey. Peanut had never spent a night without Mom or me. She must have been terrified and confused.
Hours passed. Three different shelters before I found her.
She was huddled in the corner of a steel cage, trembling. Her large, dark eyes met mine, and she let out a small, desperate whimper. She pressed her small body against the bars, her tail lashing weakly.
“Peanut,” I breathed.
The woman at the front desk gave me a sad smile. “Can I help you?”
“I’m taking her home.” My voice trembled. “She’s my dog.”
The woman’s expression changed. “I’m sorry, but your father signed the delivery papers.”
“So what? He didn’t have the right…”
She sighed. “Legally, she’s not yours anymore.” She hesitated, then softened. “Her new owner will come for her today.”
I wanted to fight, to scream, to do something.
But it was too late.
Peanut was already gone.
Two weeks passed in a blur of silence. My father barely spoke to me, though I didn’t care. The house—Mom’s house—felt emptier than ever. No Peanut. No warmth. Only the ghost of everything I’d lost.
Then the call came.
“There’s something you need to come here about,” my mother’s lawyer said. His voice was unreadable, which made my stomach twist.
When I arrived, my father was already there. He barely acknowledged me, his arms crossed, his feet tapping the floor impatiently. She wasn’t mourning, she was waiting. Probably for money.
The lawyer cleared his throat and opened a folder. “Your mother’s will is very… specific.”
My father straightened, a flash of anticipation in his eyes.
I held my breath.
“Everything she owned before the marriage remained exclusively hers,” the lawyer continued. “And since everything in this marriage was bought with her money…” He paused, looking at my father. “That means everything goes to the sole beneficiary.”
My father leaned forward, ready to collect.
The lawyer turned to me.
“Peanut.”
Silence.
My father burst out laughing. “What?”
The lawyer didn’t even blink. “Your mother left everything to Peanut: her house, her savings, all the assets. Now everything belongs to Peanut.”
The air in the room changed. My father stiffened. I heard his ragged breath.
“That’s crazy!” he snapped, his voice high with disbelief. “A bitch can’t own anything.”
“Correct,” the lawyer agreed. “That’s why her legal guardian has full control over the estate.” He closed the folder and finally looked me in the eye.
It hit me like a flash.
I was Peanut’s guardian.
Which meant… everything was mine.
My father’s face twisted with fury.
And for the first time in a long time, I smiled.
My father paled, then reddened. He clenched his fists on the table. I’d never seen him get emotional about anything before.
“This is a joke. A damn joke,” he snapped.
The lawyer didn’t even blink. He just slid the papers across the desk. “Legally binding. Your wife was very clear. “You’re not taking anything.”
I saw my father panic. His jaw tightened and his breathing quickened. His eyes darted between the lawyer and me, and his hands gripped the chair as if holding on would keep everything from slipping away.
Then something clicked in his head. He stood up so quickly that the chair scraped against the floor.
“Then I’ll get the dog back.”
I smirked. “Good luck with that.”
He stormed off. I let him go.
By the time he got to the shelter, Peanut was gone.
Ashley, my mother’s best friend, had volunteered there for years. As soon as she saw Peanut at the intake desk, she didn’t hesitate: she took her home. My father, unknowingly, had given Mom’s most beloved companion to someone he truly cared about.
By the time he arrived, reclaiming her property, he had nothing left to claim.
And by then, I was gone too.
Ashley took me in like one of her own. In her home, I wasn’t just surviving, I was safe. Loved. I had the house and the money, but most importantly, I had Peanut. She curled up next to me every night, warm and happy, away from the man who never loved us.
My father?
He had nothing.
Just what he deserved.
And the last words I said to him?
“Mom always knew you’d end up alone.”
