Despite having two girls, our story is not without its wounds. When my father passed away, my oldest child, Ameenah, inherited $50,000. That money was handed to me as guardian until she turned eighteen. My second marriage produced Liyana, my younger daughter. My husband and I made the disastrous decision to utilize Ameenah’s inheritance to pay for her tuition at a prestigious private school because we wanted her to go there.Ameenah’s face stiffened when I told her. She only said, “You’ll regret this,” without screaming. She vanished the following morning, leaving just the message, “Don’t look for me.” I’ll be alright. We searched, filed reports, and pleaded. It took weeks for an email to arrive informing me that she was safe and staying with someone I “never expected.” She wouldn’t come back till she was eighteen. Devastation blended with relief.Edda, the half-sister of her late father, called a few months later. She was facing Ameenah. She worked part-time to “pay back” her stolen future because she was upset and angry. Every week, I corresponded with her. She showed up at our door on her eighteenth birthday, older and more composed, with a check for $8,300 and the earrings I had previously returned. “It’s a start, but it’s not the whole amount,” she stated. I cried. She stayed, ate cake, and laughed with her sister once more, even though she didn’t completely forgive me.Ameenah is doing well at college right now. She has taken back her position in our lives, tutors Liyana, and comes frequently. The cheque she handed me is framed on my wall as a reminder that silence does not equate to agreement, not as a debt. I believed that taking from one child was justified by sacrifice for another. I was mistaken. Rebuilding trust takes years, but it can be lighted by honesty, humility, and second chances.
