Not long after the funeral, Stacy came to my door. Her life with Henry had collapsed, and she asked me for help. I listened, but I didn’t let old wounds reopen. Instead, I told her calmly that she had made her choices, just as I had made mine. Closing the door, I finally felt peace. My grandmother had been right all along: true family is not built on envy or betrayal, but on love, respect, and resilience.