From the moment my daughter, Lily, was born, my late wife, Sarah, recorded everything. Every milestone, every giggle, every bedtime story—it was all captured on videotapes. Sarah always said, “If something ever happens to me, I want Lily to have these. So she’ll always know how much I love her.”
Tragically, Sarah passed away when Lily was only three. I was devastated, but I vowed to keep her memory alive for our daughter. I stored the tapes safely, planning to give them to Lily on her 18th birthday, when she would be old enough to truly appreciate them.
Years passed, and I eventually remarried. My new wife, Jessica, was wonderful in many ways—supportive, caring, and a great stepmother to Lily. But she had one insecurity: Sarah’s lingering presence in our lives. Jessica never said it outright, but I could tell that she wished I would let go of Sarah’s memory.
As Lily’s 18th birthday approached, I took out the box of tapes from the attic and dusted them off. I wanted this to be a special moment, something that would connect Lily to the mother she barely remembered.
One evening, I came home to find Jessica in the living room, looking tense. “We need to talk,” she said.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She hesitated before responding. “It’s about those videotapes.”
I frowned. “What about them?”
Jessica sighed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to give them to Lily. She has a good life now. She doesn’t need to dwell on the past.”
I felt a surge of anger. “Jessica, these are her mother’s messages to her. They’re not just old videos—they’re part of who she is.”
Jessica crossed her arms. “I understand that, but I don’t want her to grow distant from us because she’s stuck in memories of someone who’s gone.”
I was speechless. I had never imagined Jessica would try to stop me from giving Lily the one thing Sarah had left behind for her.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I knew I had to make a choice—not between Jessica and Sarah, but between what was right and what was easy.
The next morning, I found the tapes… and my heart sank. The box was gone.
Frantically, I searched the house until I finally found it—in the trash bin, buried under bags of garbage. My hands shook as I pulled it out. I turned to find Jessica standing behind me, guilt written all over her face.
“I thought it was for the best,” she whispered.
I couldn’t look at her. Without another word, I took the tapes, wiped them clean, and stored them safely.
On Lily’s 18th birthday, I handed her the box. Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized what it was.
“Thank you, Dad,” she whispered, hugging me tightly.
No one—not even Jessica—could take away what rightfully belonged to my daughter.
