It’s been five years since our son Robert passed. From before his birth, Martin’s parents began a college fund for him, and we continued

contributing—every gift, bonus, and spare dollar. After his death, we left the account untouched. It became sacred—a tribute to the life he never got to live.

During a small family dinner for Martin’s birthday, my sister-in-law Amber made a shocking request. In front of everyone,

she asked us to give Robert’s college fund to her son, Steven, since “we weren’t having another child” and

the money was “just sitting there.” Her words deeply hurt, as if our grief—and Robert’s memory—meant nothing.

Before we could answer, Martin’s father stepped in. He reminded her that Steven had his own fund, which she

had already spent on a vacation. Robert’s fund wasn’t extra money—it was love, memory, and dreams we still held close.

That night, Amber texted, calling me selfish. I didn’t respond. Because love doesn’t guilt—it remembers and protects. Robert’s fund will remain

in his name, untouched. And if we ever have another child, it may one day support their dreams, just as it was meant to for their big brother.