When I was just 15, my father gave me all of my late mother’s jewelry not out of love, but because his then-girlfriend tried to take it. That wasn’t the first time someone went after her belongings; even my aunt once tried to steal a pendant. Ever since, I’ve fiercely protected these keepsakes, storing them at my grandparents’ house where they’d be safe. They weren’t just objects they were memories, and the last tangible connection I had to my mom.

Years later, with my dad remarried and the father of five new children, he asked to “talk.” What he really wanted was to ask me to hand over several of my mother’s most meaningful items: her teenage Claddagh ring for his new wife, the wedding necklace for his new stepdaughter, and the proposal ring once my grandmother’s for Rhoda to wear as her own. He even suggested I gift my mom’s beloved watch as a wedding present to “bond” with her. I said no. Immediately. Without hesitation.

That didn’t stop them. Rhoda called me, playing the victim and accusing me of being a bad daughter and sister. She insisted my mom would’ve wanted her jewelry shared with the new “family.” I told her straight: “You’re 38. I’m 26. I’m not your daughter. And you’re not getting anything of hers.” My dad followed up with emotional texts, saying I was breaking his heart. I ignored him. My mom’s wishes mattered more than anyone’s guilt trip.

On the wedding day, I handed Rhoda a small box she smiled, thinking I’d finally come around. But when she opened it, she found my mom’s old kitchen cleaning rags. “You said you wanted something she used and loved,” I said with a grin. “Here you go.” Then I walked out, proud, knowing I honored my mom the only way I could by saying no when it mattered most.