I never thought the man my mother loved would try to keep me from her in her final moments. My stepfather, Donald, slowly pushed me out of her life, using kindness as a mask. When she got sick again, I tried to be there, but he blocked me from visiting, saying she needed “rest.” I never got to say goodbye—and it broke me.

Mom and I had always been each other’s world. From childhood through college, she was my best friend, my home. Donald seemed good at first, but his jealousy grew as he tried to separate us. I thought I was being sensitive—but he was quietly erasing me.

At the funeral, Donald played the grieving husband while I sat in silence, aching with regret. But three days later, at the will reading, everything changed. Mom had left me a letter, a deed to our old house, and a box of memories. She’d made sure I’d have something he could never take away.

On a USB drive, I saw her final message—Mom in her hospital bed, telling me she loved me and never forgot me. She said Donald lied to keep us apart, but her love would always find its way back to me. I cried like a child, but I also felt peace. She may be gone—but I still feel her everywhere. Always.