When my mother died in a sudden car accident six months ago, my life changed instantly. At twenty-five, I became the legal guardian of my ten-year-old twin sisters, Lily and Maya. The responsibility felt enormous, but my love for them was even bigger. My fiancée, Jenna, seemed fully supportive—packing lunches, helping with homework, and talking about how she’d “always wanted little sisters.” For a while, I believed we were building a real family out of tragedy. That illusion shattered one afternoon when I came home early.
From the hallway, I heard Jenna speaking sharply to the girls, telling them to tell a social worker they wanted “a different family” because she refused to spend her twenties raising them. Moments later, she was on the phone saying she wanted her name on the deed to my mother’s house and that my sisters’ inheritance should “belong to us.” My heart sank. The warm, loving partner I thought I knew simply wasn’t real.
