I treasured my mother’s ashes for three years after her death. Her urn was that one sacred thing I asked my fiancée to never touch. But in her rush to make our home spotless, my fiancée vacuumed up the ashes, threw them out with the trash, and hid the truth from me.
Does the death of a loved one mean they’re gone from us forever? My mother Rosemary was my sun, moon, stars, and everything in between. After her death, I still felt her presence through the urn that held her ashes. Until the day my fiancée decided to “clean” our apartment, and my world shattered all over again.
An older lady’s framed photo, an urn, and glowing candles on a table | Source: Midjourney
The evening air was thick with memories as I stood in our living room, touching the silver frame that held Mom’s favorite photo.
She wore her favorite white dress and smiled at the camera, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
It had been five days since the accident that killed Mom, but some days, the pain felt as fresh as the morning I got the call from the hospital.
A man holding an older woman’s framed photo | Source: Midjourney
“Hey, Christian,” my sister Florence called from the couch. She had moved in after Mom passed, and her presence helped fill the echoing emptiness of my heart.
“Remember how Mom would always say grace before dinner, even if we were just having cereal?”
I smiled, running my finger along the frame. “Yeah, and remember how she’d catch us sneaking cookies before dinner? She’d try to look stern but end up laughing instead.”
A sad woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
“God, the way she’d put her hands on her hips,” Florence said, wiping her eyes. “Like she was trying so hard to be mad at us.”
“‘Lord give me strength!’” we said in unison, mimicking Mom’s exasperated tone, and for a moment, it felt like she was there with us.
The front door opened, and my girlfriend Kiara walked in, her footsteps hesitant. She’d been like that since Mom died, always hovering at the edges of our grief, never quite knowing how to step in.
A woman in the hallway | Source: Midjourney
“I picked up dinner,” she said, holding up a takeout bag. “Chinese. From that place you like, Christian.”
“Thanks,” I replied coldly. Something had changed between us since Mom’s death. It was like a wall had grown where there used to be an open door.
Two weeks after the funeral, I came home early from work to find Kiara packing a suitcase. The sight stopped me cold in the doorway.
“Where are you going?” I asked, though the answer was written in every careful fold of clothing she placed in the bag.
A woman packing her clothes | Source: Pexels
She didn’t look up. “I need some time, Christian. This… all of this… it’s too much.”
“Too much? My mother died, Kiara. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know how to help you!” She finally met my eyes, her own filled with tears. “You cry every night. You spend hours staring at her pictures. You and Florence keep talking about memories I wasn’t part of, and I feel like an outsider in my own home.”
“So your solution is to leave? When I need you most?”
A sad man looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
“Please try to understand—”
“Understand what? That my girlfriend of four years can’t handle a few weeks of grief? That you’d rather run away than support me?”
“That’s not fair!” Kiara’s hands trembled as she folded another shirt. “I’m trying my best! But it looks like you’ll take forever to move on, Chris.”
“Your best?” I grabbed the shirt from her hands. “Your best is packing your bags while I’m at work? Not even having the decency to tell me to my face that you care more about yourself than me… and my grief?”
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
“I was going to call you—”
“Oh, that makes it so much better!” I threw the shirt across the room. “What happened to ‘I’ll always be there for you’? What happened to ‘we’re in this together’?”
“I’m not equipped for this, Christian. I can’t be what you need right now.”
“I never asked you to be anything but present, Kiara. Just to sit with me, to hold my hand, to let me know I’m not alone. But I guess that’s too much to ask, isn’t it?”
A distressed man with a woman | Source: Pexels
She picked up her suitcase, her shoulders shaking. “I’m staying with my friend Shannon for a while. I’ll text you. I just… I need space to figure this out.”
“Figure what out? How to be a decent human being? Go ahead, run away. It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?”
Kiara left without saying anything.
Florence moved in the next day, bringing with her the comfort of shared grief and understanding. We spent evenings looking through old photo albums, crying together, and laughing at memories of Mom’s terrible dancing and amazing cooking.
A man watching a woman leave with her bag | Source: Pexels
“She would have hated this,” Florence said one night, gesturing at the takeout containers littering our coffee table. “Remember how she used to say fast food was ‘the devil’s cooking’?”
“But she’d still take us to McDonald’s after doctor appointments,” I added, smiling at the memory. “Said it was ‘medicinal French fries.’”
“Chris, did Kiara call?”
“Nope! Just texted. You know, I stayed with her through her father’s illness, her bad days, her everything. And yet here I am, alone in my own grief. I needed her, but maybe she just didn’t love me enough.”
An upset an sitting on the couch | Source: Pexels
The only way Kiara contacted me was through texts like, “Hope you’re okay.”
I typed and deleted, “I needed you, Kiara.” But sent, “I’m managing. Thanks.”
A month after Kiara left, she asked to meet at our usual coffee shop. She sat across from me, looking smaller somehow, her hands wrapped around an untouched latte.
“Shannon’s boyfriend confronted me yesterday,” she hesitantly began. “Called me selfish and cold-hearted. Said I abandoned you when you needed me most.”
A woman in a coffee shop | Source: Unsplash
I stayed silent, watching her struggle with the words.
“He was right,” Kiara continued. “I’ve started therapy, Christian. I want to be better. I want to learn how to be there for you, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
“How do I know you won’t leave again?” I asked, the fear raw in my voice.
“Because I love you,” she replied, reaching across the table. “And I’m learning that love means staying, even when it hurts. Even when you don’t know what to say or do. I’m sorry for being a jerk.”
A woman holding a man’s hand | Source: Unsplash
Life settled into a new pattern after that. Kiara moved back in, and three years later, we started planning our wedding.
Mom’s urn remained on its special table in the corner, surrounded by her photos and her plastic rosary — the one she’d carried everywhere, even to the grocery store.
“We should divide the ashes,” I suggested to Florence one evening. “You could have half.”
She shook her head, touching the urn gently. “No, let’s keep them together. It’s what Mom would have wanted.”
An urn on a shelf | Source: Midjourney
I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes as I thought about Mom and how much I’d miss her at my wedding. I’d already decided: the urn with her ashes would have a special spot in the front row of the church. It would make me feel like Mom was there, blessing me as I took this important step in my life.
The wedding planning consumed our days. And Kiara seemed different. She was more present and understanding.
She held me when the grief hit unexpectedly, sat through stories about Mom without fidgeting, and even asked questions about her sometimes.
Grayscale shot of bridal accessories | Source: Pexels
Then, the call from Florence came on a Tuesday evening, just three days before my wedding. “Hey, Chris? I was wondering if I could have Mom’s rosary. The plastic one? I found a photo of her holding it, and—”
“Of course,” I said, moving toward the urn. “Let me just—”
The words died in my throat as I opened it. Inside, where Mom’s ashes should have been, sat a Ziploc bag filled with… SAND? The rosary lay beside it, exactly where I’d left it three years ago.
The front door opened, and Kiara walked in carrying shopping bags. One look at my face, and hers drained of color.
“What did you do to Mom’s ashes?” I asked.
A man pointing a finger | Source: Pexels
She set the bags down slowly, her hands trembling. “Honey, it’s not what you think. I didn’t do it intentionally—”
“What did you do, Kiara?”
A long silence followed. Then she confessed, “I was cleaning while you were at work a few months ago. The apartment needed a deep clean, and—”
“And what?”
“I picked up the urn to clean the table and accidentally dropped it. It shattered. I quickly assembled the ashes into a bag. But the bag tore. The ashes spilled onto the carpet. I… I panicked. I vacuumed them up and threw the ashes into the trash outside.”
My knees buckled. “You vacuumed my mother’s ashes and threw them in the trash?”
A woman using a vacuum cleaner | Source: Pexels
“I didn’t know what to do. I got some sand from the park nearby. Found a replica of the same urn in the antique shop downtown. I filled it up with the sand. I… I thought you’d never open it again.”
“Never open it? You thought I’d never want to see my mother’s ashes again?”
“I was trying to clean the house. It was just an accident.”
“Clean?” I slammed my hand against the wall. “Those weren’t dust bunnies under the couch, Kiara! That was my mother! The only physical piece of her I had left!”
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sorry, Christian!” she sobbed. “I wasn’t thinking!”
“Clearly!” I picked up the urn, cradling it to my chest. “You weren’t thinking when you decided to ‘clean’ around the one thing I specifically asked you never to touch. You weren’t thinking when you vacuumed up my mother’s remains like they were dirt. And you certainly weren’t thinking when you replaced them with sand and lied to my face for months!”
“Please, Christian, we can fix this—”
“Fix this? How exactly do you propose we fix this, Kiara? Should we go dumpster diving? Should we sift through garbage bags looking for my mother’s ashes?”
An emotional, teary-eyed woman | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll do anything—”
“Did you even try, Kiara? Did you even attempt to salvage anything? Or did you just panic and run to the park for sand, like you always run away when things get hard?”
Her silence filled the room like poison.
“That’s what I thought.” I started gathering Mom’s photos from the table before dumping the sand from the urn. “You know what the worst part is? I actually believed you’d changed. I thought all that therapy and all those promises meant something. But you’re still the same person who left me when my mother died. You’re still running from the hard stuff.”
Close-up shot of an angry man yelling at a woman | Source: Pexels
“Our wedding’s in three days. Please… I’m sorry. Don’t leave me. Where are you going, Christian?”
“Away from you!” I grabbed my keys and things. “I can’t even look at you right now.”
Before stepping out, I looked back, hoping stupidly for a sign of regret. Anything to show she understood what she’d done.
But Kiara just stared at the floor, her face unreadable, and already distant. My chest tightened, and the last bit of hope drained out of me. Without another word, I turned and left, the empty urn heavy in my hands.
A man walking away with a suitcase | Source: Pexels
The hotel room I checked in felt sterile and cold. I sat on the edge of the bed, Mom’s photos spread around me. My phone buzzed continuously with messages from Kiara, but I couldn’t bring myself to read them.
How would I tell Florence? How could I explain that the last piece of our mother was likely buried in a landfill or blown away like dust because my fiancée treated her remains like dirt?
As dawn broke, I stared at the urn one last time, realizing I was left with only emptiness and betrayal.
A distressed man | Source: Pexels
Things would never be the same, and I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to forgive my fiancée. Maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I never could. But deep down, in a corner of my heart, I hoped my mother would forgive me.
I took the rosary, feeling the familiar smooth plastic under my fingers.
“The night before your accident, you made Florence and me promise to keep it safe, Mom. Said it would help us find our way when we felt lost,” I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes.
“Maybe that’s why you wanted us to have it. Because you knew that someday, we’d need something more than your ashes to hold onto.”
A man holding a rosary | Source: Pixabay
I clutched the rosary tighter, remembering Mom’s words, “Love isn’t in the things we keep, dear. It’s in the memories we make and the forgiveness we offer.”
I don’t know if I can forgive Kiara. Every time I close my eyes, I see Mom’s ashes being sucked away into nothing. How do you forgive something like that?
I stepped out onto the seashore nearby. The city lights blurred through my tears as I clutched the empty urn and rosary to my chest. A gentle breeze stirred, reminding me of how Mom used to say the wind carried whispers from heaven.
An emotional man’s eyes | Source: Unsplash
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, looking up at the sky. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect your ashes. I had one job — to keep you safe. But I failed. But I want you to know… wherever you are… that you’re still here with me. In every breath I take, in every memory I hold, and in every prayer these beads have witnessed. I love you, Mom. I’ll love you until my last breath and beyond that. Please forgive me.”
The wind seemed to wrap around me like one of her warm embraces, and for a moment, I could almost hear her whisper, “There’s nothing to forgive, dear. Nothing at all. Love you too.”
Silhouette of a man standing on the seashore | Source: Pexels
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.
Millionaire Pretends to Be Poor Meeting the Parents of His Son’s Fiancee — Story of the Day
A girl’s parents are against her marrying a nice young guy who they think is poor, so his millionaire father pretends to be broke and teaches them a lesson.
When Sam Sutton discovered a way to make an unbreakable sealant for engines everyone wanted, he never imagined that it would one day affect the love life of his then-infant son, Will.
Sam’s discovery brought immediate improvements to the family’s life as it happened. He started making a lot of money on that sealant’s patent. Sam, his wife, and his baby son moved to a lovely house and got a new car.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
As the years passed, there was more money than Sam had ever imagined. His little family was comfortable, and that’s all he cared about. The extraordinary sums his lawyer kept reporting on seemed quite unreal.
Then something terrible happened to Sam and his family, and all those millions piled up in the bank made no difference. Sam’s wife, Rain, became very ill. Sam kept telling doctors money was no object, but they just shook their heads.
There are two things in life that money can’t buy: love and good health. Sam found out about the first in the most painful way when Rain passed away, and he’d find out about the second when Will grew up.
Being a single dad to a growing boy wasn’t easy, so maybe Sam made a few mistakes. Will was so kind, loving, and unspoiled that Sam lavished everything he could afford on him — and Sam could afford anything.
So, in high school, Will’s colleagues quickly realized that his dad was very rich and generous — and so was Will. Quickly, Will became the most popular guy — not because of his kindness or amazing good looks, but because of his dad’s money.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Girls, in particular, swarmed around Will like bees around a honey pot. At first, Will liked it, but gradually, he realized they didn’t want him. They wanted his dad’s money and all the luxury it could buy.
Will told weeping Sam that the girl he was in love with didn’t really care for him. She just cared about going along on their private plane for the Sutton family trips to Aspen, Veil, and the Bahamas.
Sam comforted his son and encouraged him to break up with that girl. The rest of Will’s senior year in high school was pretty lonely, but he had a plan. “Dad,” he said, “I have a plan.”
Sam grinned. “OK! What’s your plan?””I’m going to Yale in the fall, but I want everyone to think I’m a scholarship student.”
Sam blinked in astonishment. “A scholarship student? You? But why?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
“Well.” Will said, “if I’m poor and I wear scruffy clothes, people won’t be my friends unless they really like me. Girls won’t want to date me for our money.”
“That’s very true, Will,” Sam said. “I think that’s a brilliant plan!”
And so they put the plan in motion. Will and Sam bought all his clothes and equipment second-hand, and Will was the scruffiest, poorest-looking student you ever saw.
Money can’t buy love and good health.
The plan worked because Will quickly found many great, sincere friends, and he even met a girl he liked, and she felt the same way, too. By his third year at Yale, Will was so in love with that girl.
Her name was Eddy — for Edwina — and he decided he wanted to marry her. Sam was a little worried that Will might be too young, but he married young, too, and he’d been very happy.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
So Will proposed to Eddy, and she said yes. Eddy took Will home to meet her parents that Thanksgiving, which was a disaster. Eddy’s parents, Marta and Farlow, were well-to-do and proud of their social position.
They wanted their beautiful daughter to marry a rich man, not a shabby third-year science major, no matter how smart, handsome, or funny. They were subtly unpleasant to Will but not enough that Eddy could complain.
Eddy, who had accepted Will’s proposal, proudly displayed the tiny diamond he’d given her as if it were the Kohinoor. She insisted that Will and his father join her family for the Christmas celebrations. Marta and Fallow were horrified, but they smiled, agreed, and made their plan.
Will and Sam took a Greyhound from their mansion in New Hampshire to Eddy’s family’s beach house in Narragansett to join the family for Christmas.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unplash
Eddy’s dad picked them up from the bus terminal, and the fun began. Farlow looked Sam up and down and sniffed. (Sam had gone shopping at the local Goodwill store and gone a little overboard.)
Sam didn’t look just poor; he looked almost homeless. Farlow drove them to their big house, and he talked about his wealth, his houses, and his cars. “I’ll have you know,” he said to Sam, “that I’ve done very well by my family. We live in comfort — to be honest, we live in luxury.
“Not everyone is used to that, of course, and we understand that, but we hope you and Will will be able to fit in. Christmas is very important to us.”
“It’s important to us too,” Sam said. As it turned out, Marta and Farlow’s idea of Christmas was to splurge on towers of expensive presents and show everyone they knew how successful they were.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
The next few days were a nightmare. Farlow and Marta didn’t miss a chance to show Sam they believed their daughter was way out of his son’s league.
“Eddy is a wealthy young woman, Sam,” Marta said. “And her husband must be able to give her the same lifestyle. I know you’ve not done as well for Will…”
Eddy became aware of her parents’ campaign to humiliate Sam, and she was furious. So she talked with her parents. “I’m going to marry Will,” she said. “And Sam’s going to be family, so get used to it.”
“But darling,” cried her mother, “the man is a derelict! Have you seen his clothes? He’s an embarrassment.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pixabay
“Believe me, mom,” Eddy said angrily, “you are much more of an embarrassment than Sam could ever be!” Eddy could not have known that Sam was listening, and he smiled. She loved Will! He’d found his one-in-a-million girl.
That night was Christmas Eve, and when the family gathered around the tree at midnight to exchange gifts, Marta said with an unpleasant smile, “You mustn’t feel bad, Sam, we know you’re struggling!”
Marta and Farlow handed Will a box with a car key inside. “It’s an early wedding present,” Farlow said. “We thought you needed a better car. Your old clunker is at least twenty years old, Will!”
Will smiled and thanked Marta and Farlow, and they all went outside to admire the Porsche sitting in the garage with a big red bow on it. Farlow threw Sam a triumphant look and smirked. He knew that Sam could never top that gesture, could he?
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Then Sam took an envelope out of his pocket. “Eddy,” he said. “Will told me you two plan to move to New York when you graduate.”
“That’s right, Sam! You know he has an offer from a New York research facility, and I have an internship at the Met…”
“Well, finding a place to live in Manhattan isn’t easy, so I hope this helps…” Sam gave the envelope to Eddy.
Farlow sneered. “What’s that? A list of homeless shelters in the Upper East Side? A guide to the Best Brooklyn soup kitchens?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Eddy opened the envelope and gasped. “Sam!” she whispered. “Is this for real?” She showed Will the sheaf of papers inside the envelope, and Will ran to embrace his dad.
Farlow and Marta looked from one to the other in surprise. Then Eddy turned to her parents. “Sam’s given Will and I the deed to a brownstone in Tribeca. He’s given us a home.”
Marta and Farlow looked at each other, their mouths hanging open. “But…but…but…” gasped Farlow. “You’re POOR…The way you dress…You took the bus…”
“Well, Farlow,” said Sam gently. “I want my son to be loved and accepted for himself, not for the $570 million he will eventually inherit from me.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
There were no more objections to the wedding from Eddy’s parents. In fact, they became Will’s biggest fans and were very polite and respectful of Sam. The following summer, Will and Eddy married and moved to New York. When they welcomed their little daughter, Rain, three years later, Sam bought himself a house next door so he could be close to them.
What can we learn from this story?
- Money can’t buy love and good health. Sam knew that if people knew he was rich, they’d get close to his son for his money.
- Don’t judge people by their appearance. Farlow and Marta despised Sam for his shabby clothes and never imagined he was a millionaire.
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