I expected my dad’s funeral to be a solemn farewell, but everything changed when my stepmom, Vivian, arrived dressed in white with her four adult kids, like they were attending a yacht party. The rest of us wore black, grieving. I confronted her, furious, and she smugly claimed Dad had asked them to wear white. Then she pulled out a letter, supposedly written by him.

As whispers spread, the ceremony began. Vivian and her kids took the front row like VIPs, basking in attention. But then Joe, Dad’s best friend, took the stage with another letter — one Dad had written to expose the truth. The room went silent as he began reading.

In the letter, Dad revealed Vivian and her kids had been absent during his illness — except when they needed money. Worse, he discovered they had been stealing from him. He admitted he told them to wear white so they’d be clearly seen — and judged. Vivian’s smug expression crumbled as the truth hit.

Joe declared they were no longer welcome and asked them to leave. Humiliated, Vivian stormed out, her kids trailing behind, silent and ashamed. The room exhaled. We honored my father in peace — with laughter, tears, and love. Even in d*ath, he had the last word.