My Stepdaughter Insisted I Reassign All Her Deceased Father’s Possessions into Her Name – I Complied, Yet She Was Unpleased

The emptiness of George’s departure permeates their residence, his presence enduring in the shirt Mariana grips nightly. However, it wasn’t his passing that devastated her… it was her stepdaughter Susan’s insistence on inheriting his wealth. When she reluctantly agreed, an unexpected twist left Susan enraged and Mariana strangely content.

Progressing past the death of a dear one is always challenging. At times, I still sense my husband George’s voice echoing in my mind. I awaken holding his cherished shirt, his fragrance still clinging to the material. Yet, as I mourned him, my stepdaughter’s actions… they utterly broke me…

I am Mariana, aged 57, wed to the kindest man, George, for 25 years. He had a daughter, Susan, aged 34, from an earlier marriage.

Our bond with Susan was once good. She addressed me as “Mom” and filled the gap in my heart from not bearing my own children. I never viewed her as “another’s” child. I cherished her as my own daughter, truly.

When Susan wed her chosen partner, George and I were thrilled. But then, everything deteriorated when George received a terminal cancer diagnosis.

Susan’s visits reduced from weekly to monthly, then ceased entirely. She seldom visited her father, occasionally phoning to inquire about his health.

One day, she posed a question that tore me apart. “How long does he have left?”

Clutching the phone tightly, my voice shook. “Susan, your father isn’t an item with an expiration date.”

“I just need to know, Mom. I’m swamped, you know that… I can’t come by often,” she responded.

“Swamped?” I repeated, my tone filled with disbelief. “Too swamped to visit your dying father?”

She exhaled deeply. “Look, I’ll attempt to come soon, okay?”

But that “soon” never materialized.

Then, the dreaded day arrived. The hospital informed me that George had passed away peacefully.

I was devastated, barely able to stand as the reality sank in. My beloved George, gone.

Shockingly, Susan didn’t attend his funeral. When I called her, she promptly excused herself.

“I’m expecting, Mom,” she stated, her tone strangely indifferent. “The doctors advised against lengthy travel due to some medical concerns.”

I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you wish to bid him farewell one last time?”

“I can’t jeopardize my baby’s health,” she curtly replied. “You understand, right?”

I didn’t, not truly, but I nodded silently, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course, dear. Take care.”

As I sat near my husband’s coffin, I couldn’t dismiss the notion that our relationship had irrevocably changed.

Six months post-George’s death, I was startled by a loud knock at my door. Opening it, I saw Susan and her husband Doug, along with a severe-looking man in a suit.

Susan entered without greeting. “Mom, we need your signature on some documents.”

Baffled, I blinked. “Which documents?”

Doug handed me a stack of papers, including a blank sheet. “Just sign these. They’re for transferring all the properties into our names.”

“Excuse me?” I stepped back, heart pounding. “What are you implying?”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Dad’s properties, Mom. We’re here to claim what’s rightfully ours.”

Their audacity left me speechless. If only George had drafted a will, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. I would have ensured my daughter was taken care of before she even realized there was an issue.

But this? Their tone and audacity irked me. How could they think I’d simply stand by and let them trample over me?

“No,” I stated firmly, finding my voice. “I want you to leave my house right now. And don’t you dare return with such dreadful demands.”

Susan’s face twisted with anger. “You can’t do this! You’re not even my REAL MOTHER!”

Her words struck me like a bag of bricks. I stumbled back, tears welling in my eyes. “Susan, how could you say that? After all these years?”

“Just maintain your limits and transfer my father’s properties to me,” she spat.

My blood pressure surged, my vision clouding with tears and fury. “Leave my house!” I yelled. “Your father would be heartbroken if he knew what a greedy daughter you’ve become. I’m glad my George didn’t live to see this day.”

Susan launched into a tirade, her words becoming a blur of insults and demands.

“How dare you, Mariana? George was my father, not yours, and you have no claim here!” she yelled. “You think you can worm your way in here and seize what’s ours? Over my dead body!”

That did it. Tears sprang from my eyes. Susan… the daughter my George and I had practically raised, now stabbing me with her words alone.

But no, I wouldn’t let them break me. Not me. Not Mariana.

“This is my home, and you’re not welcome! Take your greed and leave before I contact the authorities!” I retorted.

“Do you comprehend the turmoil you’re causing us? You’re nothing but a greedy scavenger, hovering for scraps my father left behind!” Susan barked.

“If you had a shred of decency, you’d depart now! But clearly, that’s too much to ask!” I snapped.

“You think a few harsh words will intimidate us? Just sign the damn documents, woman!” Doug shouted at me.

I felt cornered by the daughter I’d loved and raised. I was furious and heartbroken.

When they refused to leave, my neighbor, alerted by the noise, hurried over. “You heard her! This isn’t your place, and you’re not welcome. Move it!” he physically escorted Susan and Doug out.

As they departed, Susan’s furious voice echoed back. “This isn’t over, Mariana! You’ll regret this!”

I slumped onto the couch, my heart aching. Where had all that love we once shared vanished? How could greed twist my daughter into someone I barely recognized?

With trembling hands, I reached for George’s framed photo on the side table. Tears blurred my vision as I traced his smiling face.

“Oh, George,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Why didn’t you take me with you? I’m lost without you.”

A sob escaped my throat as I clutched the frame to my chest. “Our daughter… our sweet Susan… she’s a stranger to me now. What happened to the little girl who used to call me Mom?”

The silence of the empty house pressed in around me, amplifying my grief. I rocked back and forth, the photo cool against my tear-stained cheeks.

“I miss you so much, honey,” I choked out. “I don’t know how to face this alone.”

Susan’s calls didn’t stop after that. Day and night, my phone buzzed with her angry messages and voicemails. Finally, exhausted and desperate for peace, I decided to give in.

I met with my attorney, resolved to grant Susan her wish and conclude the matter. But there was something neither of us knew.

A week later, Susan stormed into my home again, her face red with anger.

“HOW DID YOU DO THIS?” she screamed. “I only receive $3,000 and an old car? Where’s the rest?”

I stared at her, a faint smile appearing on my face. “What are you referring to?”

Susan brandished a document in my face. “This! This pitiful legacy you instructed the lawyer to grant me! Where’s the rest?”

I took the document from her, a slight smile playing on my lips. According to this, George only had $3,000 in his bank account, an old Mustang, and some debts.

“What about the house? The SUV? Dad’s old farmhouse?” Susan snapped.

You see, my lawyer, whom I’d contacted the other day, arrived and clarified the situation. And this is what he said:

“Mrs. Anderson, everything the family possessed is in your name. The house, the SUV, the farmhouse, everything. Mr. Anderson transferred it all to you years ago, keeping just three grand in his bank account and his old Mustang. It’s now up to you to determine the destiny of these assets.”

Until the lawyer revealed the truth, I’d assumed George had left me nothing. But no! He had ensured I’d be cared for after his departure. Bless his soul.

Susan’s face contorted with fury when I revealed the truth. “You’re lying! This can’t be accurate!” she hissed.

I gazed at her, an odd calm enveloping me. “Well, Susan, you requested your father’s assets. Now you possess them.”

“This isn’t just!” she shrieked. “You deceived me!”

I looked up, a gentle smile on my face. “No, Susan. I provided you precisely what you demanded… what rightfully belonged to your father. And now, I’m retaining what rightfully belongs to me.”

In the following days, I made a decision. I sold everything—the house, the SUV, the farmhouse, all of it. I secured a respectable eight-figure sum, acquired a lovely villa in a place I’d always dreamt of living, far from everyone.

As I settled into my new abode, I received a call from an old friend back in town.

“Mariana,” she murmured, her voice subdued. “I thought you should be aware. Susan’s attempting to initiate legal action against you.”

I sighed, unsurprised. “Let me guess, it failed?”

“Indeed. Everything was in your name, after all!”

I thanked her for the information and hung up, feeling a mix of sadness and relief.

Weeks passed, and I began to relish my new life. I traveled the world, explored new hobbies, formed new friendships. But the tranquility didn’t endure.

One day, my phone rang with an unknown number. When I answered, I heard a man’s voice. “Mrs. Anderson? I’m calling on behalf of Susan. She wishes to meet with you.”

I felt a chill travel down my spine. “No,” I stated firmly. “I’m not interested.”

“But Mrs. Anderson, she insists—”

I interrupted him. “Inform Susan she obtained what she desired. I have nothing more to discuss with her.”

As I ended the call, I couldn’t help but ponder why Susan was so eager to meet now. What more could she possibly desire? The remnants of my fading tranquility?

I shook my head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter. I had a new life now, and I intended to live it fully. After all, isn’t that what George would have wanted?