Writing a will was never something I looked forward to. It felt heavy—like I was deciding how to measure love with numbers. But I knew it was important, and I wanted to be thoughtful. For me, it wasn’t just about splitting money—it was about what I’d be leaving behind. A reflection of love, of family, of what I thought was fair.

I’ve always tried to love all my kids equally—whether they came from me or came into my life later. Blending a family isn’t easy, and there were challenges early on, but over time, I really believed we had become one. I raised my stepchildren alongside my daughter. In my eyes—and in my heart—they are all my children.

So, when it came time to put my will together, I tried to approach it with compassion and logic. I decided to leave a bit more to the ones who are raising children of their own, thinking they might need the extra support as their families grow. I didn’t do it to pick favorites—I did it because I wanted to help where I thought the help might go furthest.

But I barely had time to breathe before everything fell apart.

The news got out faster than I could manage, and suddenly my phone was full of angry texts: “So that’s what we’re worth to you?” and “I always knew you loved her more.” Then came the knock on the door—my stepson, red-faced and shouting before I even said hello. He accused me of never truly seeing him as family. And my stepdaughter? She poured everything onto social media, painting me as cold and heartless before I even had a chance to explain.

It broke my heart.

I never imagined my intentions would be so misunderstood. I just wanted to ease the burden for those who might need it later—not to make anyone feel less-than, or unloved. But now, I’m left wondering: Did I get it wrong? Or did this just reveal pain I didn’t realize was still there?

All I ever wanted was for them to feel equally cherished. But when it comes to family—and money—it turns out fairness can look very different through someone else’s eyes.