The argument carried on after I left the funeral arrangements that morning.

“Anna and Sophie won’t even talk to you,” Candace remarked. “They feel like you’re choosing Shiloh over them. This might destroy everything we’ve worked for.”

“Worked for?” I responded, shocked. “Candace, if what we’ve created can’t handle me standing by my grieving daughter, then maybe it wasn’t as solid as you think.”

“That’s not fair,” she replied softly, but her voice lacked any real firmness.

“What’s truly unfair is how you allowed her to be treated,” I said, my anger rising. “She’s a child who just lost her mom, Candace. I thought you’d show some empathy. Instead, you treated her like a burden.”

At the funeral, I stayed close to Shiloh.

Her hands shook as she wiped away her tears, and I felt a deep ache seeing her try to hold everything inside. “Thank you for everything, Dad.”

When we got home, I sat Candace down for a serious conversation.

“We need to talk,” I said firmly. “It’s important that this never happens again. Shiloh’s already lost her mom; she shouldn’t feel like she’s losing her place here too.”

Candace sighed and avoided my gaze. “I didn’t handle things well,” she admitted softly. “But you made me feel like my opinion didn’t matter.”

“Your opinion always matters,” I responded gently. “But when it comes to Shiloh, I won’t back down on making sure she feels loved and safe. I hope you can understand that.”

Candace nodded, though reluctantly. “I’ll try to do better.”

Later that evening, Shiloh wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. “Thanks for standing up for me, Dad,” she whispered.

I held her close, knowing I had made the right choice. Moving forward, I was determined to set clear boundaries, ensuring Shiloh always felt supported, no matter what it took.