I Refused to Cancel My Bachelorette Weekend to Care for My Sick Stepdad—Then Came the Sh0ck

My stepdad never treated me like family. So when Mom called before my bachelorette trip saying, “He’s in the hospital—he’s dying,” I felt nothing but bitterness. “He’s your husband, not my father,” I said—and got on the plane.

The next morning, I opened the curtains of my beachside suite and froze. Offshore was his yacht—the one he never let me near. A few hours later, the concierge handed me an envelope. Inside was the boat’s title and a letter in his handwriting:

“I know I wasn’t good at showing it, but I loved you. I’m sorry for making you feel like an outsider. I hope this boat gives you the freedom I never gave you. Love, Dad.”

He died that same morning.

Now, the guilt won’t let me rest. While I was celebrating, he was dying—thinking of me. I spent years believing I didn’t matter. But I did. And when it mattered most, I turned away.

Mom hasn’t spoken to me since. And honestly, I don’t blame her.