Turns out his fiancée had been asking about my mom’s jewelry for years — especially the pearl necklace.

Apparently, she’d recently told my dad that since they now had two daughters, it would be “fair” for the necklace to become a family heirloom for all the girls. She said it wasn’t right that I was “hoarding” everything when my sisters would grow up without anything from their grandmother.

I was stunned.

My mom’s mother — my grandmother — is still alive. The necklace wasn’t some ancient family artifact from my dad’s side. It was my mom’s. And she had made it clear she wanted her things to go to me.

Dad said he understood that, but his fiancée felt strongly. She thought maybe I could “gift” the necklace to one of the girls when they turned 18. Or at least let them have it now so it could stay in their house.

I reminded him why the jewelry was sent to my grandparents in the first place — because people kept trying to take it.

There was a long pause.

Then he admitted something that made my stomach drop.

His fiancée had already contacted my aunt — the same aunt who once tried to steal the necklace — asking if she knew where it was kept. She’d even suggested that since my grandparents were older now, maybe it would be “safer” if the jewelry was brought back to their house.

That’s when I realized this wasn’t about sentiment.

It was about access.

I told my dad clearly: Mom’s belongings are not communal property. They are mine because she wanted them to be mine. My sisters have their own mother. They will have her things one day. That doesn’t take anything away from them.

He sounded torn. He said he didn’t want conflict in his home. He just wanted everyone to feel included.

“I’m not excluding anyone,” I said. “I’m protecting what Mom left me.”

A few days later, my grandmother called me. Apparently, my dad’s fiancée had reached out to her directly, trying to arrange a visit “to look through old keepsakes.” Thankfully, my grandmother shut it down immediately.

After that, I drove to my grandparents’ house and picked everything up myself. I moved it into a safety deposit box in my name only.

When I told my dad, he was quiet.

Then he said, “I guess I should’ve known better than to ask.”

Maybe he should have.

I love my sisters. This isn’t about them. But my mother died when I was twelve. Those are the only tangible pieces of her I have left. I won’t let guilt, pressure, or convenience take that away from me.

And if anyone thinks that makes me selfish…

They clearly don’t understand what it’s like to lose your mom that young.