“Of course. What would you like to know?”
“Everything. Who has access to it? What happens to it now? Can anyone else claim it?”
He pulled up the documents on his computer.
“The trust is solely in your name as the trustee and beneficiary designate. Since Ethan has passed, you have complete control over the assets. No one else can access or claim these funds without your explicit authorization.”
Relief flooded through me.
“So if someone were to try to convince me to use it for something else, they’d have no legal standing?”
“None whatsoever. This is your money now, Brienne. You can do whatever you wish with it.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“What if I wanted to make sure certain people could never benefit from it? Is there a way to protect it?”
Gerald’s expression shifted slightly. He’d been my adviser long enough to recognize when something was wrong.
“Are you concerned about someone trying to access these funds?”
“My family wants me to use my son’s money to pay for my sister’s wedding,” I said flatly. “They didn’t come to his funeral because they were planning this wedding. They think I’m being selfish for not immediately handing over $850,000 for a destination wedding in Greece.”
Gerald’s face went pale.
“I’m sorry. That’s unconscionable.”
“I need to protect this money,” I continued. “Not just from them, but I need to make sure it’s used for something meaningful. Something that honors Ethan’s memory. Can you help me with that?”
He was quiet for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes. We can restructure the assets, create barriers to access, and establish clear stipulations for how the funds can be used. Give me a few days to draw up some options for you.”
I left his office feeling lighter than I had in weeks. Not happy. I couldn’t imagine ever feeling happy again. But purposeful. For the first time since Ethan died, I had something to focus on besides the crushing weight of grief.
My phone had seventeen missed calls by the time I got home. All from numbers I didn’t recognize. My father must have been calling from different phones, trying to get around the block.
There were also three voicemails. I listened to the first one. My mother’s voice, sugary sweet.
“Honey, I know you’re upset, but we need to talk about this reasonably. Jessica’s wedding is in four months, and Brandon’s family is counting on us to contribute. You know his parents aren’t wealthy like we are. We told them we’d cover the venue and the accommodations for all the guests. That trust fund would be perfect for this. Ethan would have wanted his aunt to be happy.”
The second voicemail was from my sister. Her tone was less sweet.
“Brienne, stop being ridiculous. Mom and Dad said you blocked them. This is crazy. Nobody expects you to get over losing Ethan right away, but life goes on. My wedding is important, too. Call me back.”
The third was from my father.
“I’ve tried to be patient, but this is getting out of hand. That money is just sitting there doing nothing. Your sister needs it for her future. You’re being incredibly selfish, and your mother is sick with worry about how you’re handling this. Call us back immediately so we can discuss this like adults.”
I deleted all three messages and added the new numbers to my block list.
That evening, I finally went into Ethan’s room. I’d been avoiding it since he passed, unable to face the tiny bed with the dinosaur sheets, the bookshelf full of picture books we’d read together every night, the toy chest overflowing with trucks and blocks and stuffed animals.
I sat on the floor and pulled out his favorite stuffed elephant, the one he’d named Peanut. He’d slept with it every single night. I held it against my chest and finally let myself remember.
Ethan had been everything to me. His laugh. The way he’d run to me when I picked him up from daycare. How he’d say, “I love you, Mommy,” in his sweet little voice. The way he’d hold my hand when we crossed the street. His obsession with construction vehicles and his insistence on wearing his rain boots even on sunny days.
My family had barely acknowledged him when he was alive. My parents visited maybe three times a year, usually when they needed something. Jessica had met him twice. They’d sent cards on his birthday with $50 inside and considered their duty done.
But now that he was gone, now that there was money involved, suddenly they cared. Suddenly they wanted to be part of his legacy by erasing it completely and using his future to fund a party.
I looked at Peanut the elephant and made a promise.
“They’re not getting a penny. I’m going to make sure your memory means something.”
My phone buzzed with another call from an unknown number. I didn’t answer.
Two weeks passed and my family’s attempts to reach me became increasingly desperate. They started showing up at my apartment. The first time, I simply didn’t answer the door. I watched through the peephole as my mother knocked repeatedly, calling my name, insisting we needed to talk.
“Brienne, I know you’re in there. Your car is in the parking lot. Open this door right now. You can’t keep avoiding us forever.”
I stood silently on the other side, barely breathing, until she finally gave up and left.
The second visit was worse. Jessica came with my parents, and she was furious. I could hear her voice through the door.
“This is insane. You’re ruining my wedding because you want to punish us for not coming to a funeral. Ethan is dead, Brienne. Dead. Crying about it won’t bring him back. But I’m alive and I’m getting married and I deserve to have the wedding I’ve always dreamed of.”
My father’s voice joined in.
“We raised you, Brie. We fed you, clothed you, put a roof over your head. You owe us. That money should go to family, to someone who’s alive and has a future. Stop being so goddamn selfish and think about someone other than yourself for once.”
I recorded that entire encounter on my phone. I wasn’t sure why at the time, but something told me I might need it later.
At work, I threw myself into my cases with an intensity that worried my colleagues. I stayed late every night, took on extra work, volunteered for the cases no one else wanted. It was easier than going home to an empty apartment. Easier than facing the silence where Ethan’s laughter used to be.
My boss, Patricia, called me into her office after I’d been back at work for three weeks.
“Brienne, I need to talk to you about something,” she said, gesturing for me to sit. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically. “My work hasn’t suffered. I’ve actually closed two cases ahead of schedule this month.”
“That’s exactly what concerns me,” Patricia said gently. “You’re working yourself into the ground. You’re here before everyone else. You leave after everyone’s gone, and you’re taking on more than any human being should handle. I understand you’re grieving, but this isn’t healthy.”
I looked down at my hands.
“Working is the only thing that makes sense right now. Everything else is just noise.”
Patricia was quiet for a moment.
“I also heard from HR that your family has been calling here asking to speak with you. We’ve been redirecting them as you requested, but they’re becoming quite insistent. Is everything all right?”
“Define all right,” I said bitterly. “My family skipped my son’s funeral to taste wedding cakes, and now they want me to give them his trust fund to pay for my sister’s destination wedding. They’ve been harassing me for weeks. So, no. Everything is not all right, but I’m handling it.”
Patricia’s expression shifted from concern to anger.
“They did what?”
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