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?
A TV presenter with a Māori face tattoo fires back at cruel trolls.
Reiterating her pride in her cultural heritage and identity, a TV hostess with a customary Māori face tattoo gracefully responded to trolling remarks.
These pictures often start online debates about facial tattoos. Some people accept the cultural significance of these motifs, while others think tattoos should only be placed to the body.
Oriini Kaipara, 41, is a trailblazing TV presenter who made history at Newshub in New Zealand when she began her career as a newsreader. She was the first to present a primetime TV news report while donning the traditional Māori women’s marking, the moko kauae.
Moko kauae are vitally significant symbols of Māori history and identity, as they are considered by the native Polynesian population of the mainland of New Zealand. These facial tattoos, which are typically applied to the lips and chins, honor a woman’s heritage, status, and skills while also denoting her leadership in her community and within her family.
However, in the midst of all the appreciation, Newshub received an email from a viewer named David who was unhappy with Kaipara’s moko kauae.
He responded, “We continue to object strongly to you using a Māori newsreader with a moku [moko], which is offensive and aggressive looking,” as reported by the Daily Mail.A nasty look. She also speaks incoherently in our non-English tongue, Māori. Now put an end to it.
Kaipara boldly addressed the issue head-on in spite of David’s disparaging remarks, sharing images of the messages on her Instagram story and responding in a refined and polite way.
“Today, I’d had enough.” I responded. I never behave like that. She posted a picture of David’s message to Instagram with the remark, “I hit the send button and broke my own code.”
Furthermore, Kaipara made public the email discussion she had with David in which she said she couldn’t take David’s complaint seriously “given there is no breach of broadcast standards.”
She also made an effort to correct his spelling of “moko,” as David had referred to hers as “moku.”
Kaipara stated in her email, “I understand your complaints originate from a place of preference on how one must look on-screen.” This kind of intolerance, harassment, or prejudice is not warranted for Moko and others around her; they are not dangerous.
“We don’t intend to cause harm or have any bad intentions, and neither do we/I deserve to be treated with such disregard,” she continued. “Please stop complaining and wait until a later time, preferably the 1800s, to express your cultural ignorance and bias.”
Kaipara swiftly stressed that most of her comments are pleasant and that ugly trolls are uncommon, even in the wake of David’s negative remarks.
Shortly after responding to David’s complaint, Kaipara spoke with the New Zealand Herald about the need for more Māori activists. “The fact that some people find my existence upsetting is evidence of the need for more Māori advocates in important positions throughout every sector,” she stated.
All things considered, Kaipara’s cool response serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of cultural pride and resilience in the face of adversity. She is also inspiring people to embrace their identities with courage and speak out against discrimination.
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