I expected my father’s funeral to be a quiet, respectful goodbye. Instead, my stepmom Vivian and her four kids showed up dressed head-to-toe in white, like they were at a party—not a funeral. Everyone else wore black, grieving quietly.

When I confronted Vivian, she smugly showed a letter from my dad saying they should wear white to “honor his wishes.” But then my dad’s best friend Joe read another letter—one my dad wrote before he died, exposing Vivian and her kids for stealing money from his accounts and never really caring for him during his illness.

Joe revealed that the white clothes were meant to make Vivian and her children stand out—to shame them publicly. Vivian’s face went pale with shame and anger, but the room was silent with judgment.

She stormed out in disgrace, and we were left to mourn the man who truly held our family together. My dad’s final act of justice gave us peace—and him the last word.