Woman Told Her Daughter Her Father Had Died – Years Later, the Girl Discovered a Heartbreaking Truth
When Cassie returns from a getaway with her husband and son, she walks into her home to see a cryptic message from her mother — telling her to watch a video. As Cassie presses play, her entire life changes. In the end, she’s left wondering which of her parents are worthy of forgiveness.
In my eyes, my father could do no wrong. He was everything I needed him to be and more. He was a businessman who was always traveling, but he ensured that he made enough time for me.
“You’re my little girl, Cassie,” he would say, bopping my nose with his index finger. “You’re the most special.”
My parents always went out of their way for me — ensuring that despite their busy schedules, we would have family dinner almost every night.
It was the one thing that kept me grounded while both of my friends from school were in the middle of their parents’ messy divorces.
“I think it’s trendy now,” I told my mother as she cut slices of banana bread for me after school one day.
“Cas, you cannot think that divorce is trendy,” she laughed. “It’s devastating and traumatic, and very few families actually keep things civil.”
“I’m just saying that it’s trendy because a lot of kids live between two homes,” I explained to her. “It’s one of those things we were talking about in class today.”
I was fourteen, and the world seemed more dramatic than it should have been.
But what I didn’t know was that my words seemed to be an incantation that settled over our home.
A few weeks after that conversation, my father went away on a business trip. A few hours after he had been gone, there was news of his passing.
“How?” I asked. “How did he die?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Cassie,” she replied. “I’m just saying what the paramedics told me.”
“So what will we do next?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled by the question.
“For the funeral?” I asked. “Aren’t we going to have one?”
“I don’t think so,” my mother replied. “Dad wanted to be cremated and have his ashes spread at the beach. Let’s do that instead.”
I couldn’t fathom why my mother would want to do that — but at the end of the day, she knew my father best. And the longer I thought about it, the more beautiful and sentimental a private ceremony at the beach felt.
“Don’t be difficult, Cassie,” my mother said when she saw me thinking about my next move.
“I’m not,” I said. “Really. I was just thinking about it. It’s a great idea, Mom.”
I could have fought her for a send-off that I thought would have been more appropriate. But what use would it have been? At the end of the day, we had both lost him.
The months following the beach ceremony felt weighted, and I knew that I was becoming deeply depressed — my father had been our world. And his absence was felt more than anything.
But, with time, I learned to live with it.
Last week, I decided to book a cabin in the woods for a little family vacation. My son was adamant that camping was the new best thing, and I knew that despite the wonders of nature, I wasn’t going to camp in a tent without a bathroom in sight.
Instead, I thought that a cabin would be the best option — my husband, Derek, could camp outside with Drew, our son, if he insisted on it.
We had a dog, therefore, I asked my mother to house-sit for the week so that we could be at peace, knowing that Romeo was taken care of.
A week away was more than enough to restore my mind — and eventually, when we went back home, I was surprised to see that my mother wasn’t there. In fact, it looked like she had never been there.
But there, on the coffee table, was a note beneath the TV remote.
Watch this, Cassie. I’m sorry. — Mom
I didn’t know what was in store for me, but while Derek got Drew into the bath, I put the TV on and began to watch whatever my mother had planned.
The TV flickered to life, and there he was, my father, his voice a long-lost melody, his image aged but still, unmistakably him.
Tears streamed down my face as the realization that he was still alive enveloped me in a mix of joy and disbelief.
The video message was nothing short of unpredictable.
My dear Cassie, I’m still here, alive. I’m so sorry for the pain that you must have felt from my loss. But it was needed. I needed to be removed from your life because of the sordid truth of my past. Your mother knows everything, please ask her for the truth.
My health is on a steady decline, and I would love to see you and explain it all.
Love you, Dad.
Without telling Derek or Drew anything, I grabbed the car keys and ran out. I needed my mother to explain.
“So, I bet you’ve got questions for me,” she said, opening the door.
“Explain it all,” I said.
“Cassie, it’s heavy. You look tired from your trip; are you sure you want to do this now?” she asked.
I nodded. It was now or never. I needed to know why my father faked his own death to get out of our lives.
My mother made us some tea and took out some shortbread.
“Darling,” she said. “I’ll understand if you don’t forgive me, but there’s so much about that time that I need to tell you.”
I sipped my tea, trying to figure out what my mother was about to tell me.
“I remember that you were telling me about your friend’s parents getting divorced. Do you remember that?” she asked.
I nodded. Of course, I did. It was the strangest thing, but it was so common when I was in school.
“Well, your father and I were not legally married. So when I told him about our conversation regarding divorce, he was actually relieved. Without being married, there would be no divorce.”
“What’s the big deal?” I asked.
“Then I found out that the real reason that we didn’t get married was because your father was already married to another woman.”
“What?” I exclaimed, almost dropping my cup. “To who?”
“To a woman in the town where he always had his business trips.”
“You didn’t know?” I asked, unable to believe her words.
“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “But when I pressed him about it, he decided to choose that family over us. So, I told him that the story was going to be his death.”
We were both silent for a moment.
Turns out that my mother told him that she would never tell me the truth, not when he was my favorite person. She couldn’t burst my bubble in that way. And she refused to let him see me one more time.
“It was better for you to think that it was an accident,” my mother said. “It just made more sense.”
Now, I understood why we didn’t have a funeral for him.
“What did we throw into the sea, then?” I asked.
“Dust,” she replied with a straight face.
My mother had spoken to him twice over the years. The second time being a day ago.
During their meeting, my father confessed his imminent death due to illness and requested that she give me the recording. My mother, torn by guilt and love, chose to write me the note and have the recording all set for me to watch.
“I would have taken the secret to my grave,” she said. “But knowing that he was ill and wanted to see you just struck something in me.”
Compelled by a need to confront the reality of my father’s existence, I traveled to the state where he lived with his other family.
I spent a few weeks with my father — going in and out of hospitals, watching him take an array of different medication, and growing weaker by the day.
Sitting at his bedside, I listened to his stories, the regrets, the moments of joy, and the love he had for all his children — myself included.
When things started to go downhill, I asked Derek to fly over with Drew. It was going to be a fleeting moment, but at least I’d know that my son had met my father.
A few days later, my father died.
Even now, I don’t know if I’ve forgiven him for the lie of having a double life. I just know that when it came to it in the end — I wanted to spend time with him. I had shoved my feelings aside, hoping for memories that I could figure out later.
But now that the dust has settled, I’m trying to figure out if I should forgive my mother for lying.
What would you do?
Here’s another story for you | After Celine’s father dies, she is left with having to navigate the weight of her grief. Everywhere she turns, there are pieces of her father. On her many trips to the cemetery, she finds that there are always fresh flowers left.\
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My stepdaughter insisted that I transfer all of her late father’s assets to her – I did as she asked, but it didn’t turn out the way she expected
George’s absence haunts their home, his memory wrapped in his shirt that Mariana clutches each night. Yet, it wasn’t his death that shattered her… it was her stepdaughter Susan’s demand for his assets. When she finally gave in, a twist emerged, leaving Susan furious and Mariana oddly at peace.
Moving on after losing a loved one is never easy. Sometimes, I still hear my hubby George’s voice in the back of my head. I wake up clutching his favorite shirt, his scent lingering on the fabric. But while I was still grieving his loss, what my stepdaughter did… it completely shattered me…
I’m Mariana, 57 years old, and I was married to the most wonderful man, George, for 25 years. He had a daughter, Susan, 34, from a previous marriage.
Our relationship with Susan used to be fine. She called me “Mom” and filled the void in my heart of not having a child of my own. I didn’t see her as “someone else’s” child. I loved her as my own daughter, you know.
When Susan got married to the man of her choice, George and I were overjoyed. But after that, everything went downhill when George was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
Susan’s visits dwindled from weekly to monthly, then stopped altogether. She barely came to see her father, occasionally calling me to ask about his condition.
One day, she asked me something that tore me apart. “How many more days does he have left to live?”
I gripped the phone tightly, my voice trembling. “Susan, your father isn’t some product with an expiry date.”
“I just want to know, Mom. I’m busy, you know that… I can’t be visiting often,” she replied.
“Busy?” I echoed, disbelief coloring my tone. “Too busy to see your dying father?”
She sighed heavily. “Look, I’ll try to visit soon, okay?”
But that “soon” never came.
Then, the day I dreaded finally arrived. The hospital called, informing me that George had passed peacefully.
I was shattered, barely able to stand as the news sunk in. My George, my beloved George, was gone.
To my shock and disappointment, Susan didn’t even attend his funeral. When I called her, she had an excuse ready.
“You know that I just delivered my baby last month, Mom,” she said, her voice oddly detached. “The doctors advised against long travel due to some health issues.”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you want to see him one last time?”
“I can’t risk my baby’s health,” she replied curtly. “You understand, right?”
I didn’t, not really, but I nodded silently, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course, sweetie. Take care.”
As I hung up and sat near my husband’s coffin, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something had fundamentally changed between us.
Six months after George’s passing, I was startled by a loud knock on my door. Opening it, I found Susan and her husband Doug, accompanied by a stern-looking man in a suit.
Susan barged in without a greeting. “Mom, we need you to sign some papers.”
I blinked, confused. “What papers?”
Doug thrust a stack of documents at me, including a blank sheet. “Just sign these. It’s for transferring all the assets into our names.”
“Excuse me?” I stepped back, my heart racing. “What are you talking about?”
Susan rolled her eyes. “Dad’s assets, Mom. We’re here to claim what’s rightfully ours.”
Their audacity left me speechless. If only George had left a will, I wouldn’t be in this mess. I would have ensured my daughter was taken care of before she even knew there was a problem.
But this? Their tone and audacity irked me. How could they think I’d just stand by and let them walk all over me?
“No,” I said firmly, finding my voice. “I want you to leave my house right now. And don’t you dare come back with such awful demands.”
Susan’s face contorted with anger. “You can’t do this! You’re not even my REAL MOTHER!”
Her words hit me like a bag of bricks. I stumbled back, tears welling in my eyes. “Susan, how can you say that? After all these years?”
“Just stick to your boundaries and pass on my father’s assets to me,” she spat.
I felt my blood pressure rising, my vision blurring with tears and rage. “Get out of my house!” I shouted. “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 right to anything here!” she yelled. “You think you can wiggle your way in here and take what’s ours? Over my dead body!”
That did it. Tears sprang from my eyes. Susan… the daughter my George and I had raised practically stabbed 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 get out before I call the cops!” I retorted.
“Do you have any idea what you’re putting us through? You’re nothing but a greedy vulture, circling around for scraps my father left behind!” Susan barked.
“If you had an ounce of decency, you’d leave right now! But clearly, that’s asking too much!” I snapped.
“You think a few harsh words will scare us? Just sign the damn papers, lady!” Doug yelled 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, hearing the commotion, rushed 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 left, 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 lawyer, determined to give Susan what she wanted and be done with it. But there was something neither of us knew.
A week later, Susan stormed into my home again, her face red with fury.
“HOW DID YOU DO THIS?” she screamed. “I only get $3,000 and an old car? What about everything else?”
I stared at her, a small smile forming on my face. “What are you talking about?”
Susan waved a paper in my face. “This! This pathetic inheritance you told the lawyer to give me! Where’s everything else?”
I took the paper from her, a small smile dancing 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 called the other day, arrived and explained the situation. And this is what he said:
“Mrs. Anderson, everything the family owned 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 up to you now to decide the fate of these assets.”
Until the lawyer dropped the bomb, I’d assumed George had left me nothing. But no! He had made sure I’d be taken care of after he was gone. Bless his soul.
Susan’s face twisted with rage when I spilled the tea. “You’re lying! This can’t be true!” she hissed.
I looked at her, a strange calm settling over me. “Well, Susan, you wanted your father’s assets. Now you have them.”
“This isn’t fair!” she shrieked. “You tricked me!”
I looked up, a gentle smile plastered on my face. “No, Susan. I gave you exactly what you asked for… what rightfully belonged to your father. And now, I’m keeping what rightfully belongs to me.”
In the days that followed, I made a decision. I sold everything — the house, the SUV, the farmhouse, all of it. I made a decent eight figures, and bought a beautiful villa in a place I’d always dreamed of living, far from everyone.
As I settled into my new home, I received a call from an old friend back in town.
“Mariana,” she said, her voice hushed. “I thought you should know. Susan’s trying to start litigation against you.”
I sighed, unsurprised. “Let me guess, it fell through?”
“Yep. Everything was in your name, after all!”
I thanked her for the information and hung up, feeling a pang of sadness and relief.
Weeks passed, and I started to enjoy my new life. I traveled around the world, tried new hobbies, made new friends. But the peace didn’t last.
One day, my phone rang with an unfamiliar number. When I answered, I heard a man’s voice. “Mrs. Anderson? I’m calling on behalf of Susan. She wants to meet with you.”
I felt a chill run down my spine. “No,” I said firmly. “I’m not interested.”
“But Mrs. Anderson, she insists—”
I cut him off. “Tell Susan she got what she wanted. I have nothing more to say to her.”
As I ended the call, I couldn’t help but wonder why Susan was so desperate to meet now. What more could she possibly want? The fragments of my remaining peace?
I shook my head, pushing the thought away. It didn’t matter. I had a new life now, and I intended to live it to the fullest. After all, isn’t that what George would have wanted?
Leave a Reply