The Weight of Being an Outsider

I keep asking myself — when they offer to take Kenzo, is it purely out of love, or is there something else beneath it? Is it the warmth of family they want to give, or the part of him they know holds everything Vic left behind?

I was with Vic for twenty years — eighteen before Kenzo was even born. We stood together through thick and thin, through the slow build of dreams and the quiet cracks that time carved between us. Just because we weren’t together at the time of his passing doesn’t make my grief any less real than theirs. My memories of him weren’t erased by circumstance — they were built over decades, through laughter, hardship, and a love that once felt unbreakable.

Maybe they resent that Vic named me as Kenzo’s legal guardian, or that the executor reminded them decisions about his house rest with me. Maybe it’s because, after a year of caring for him — watching his body weaken but his will remain strong — he still left everything to our son. I understand that might be hard for them to accept. But the truth is, when Vic was younger, they weren’t always there for him. There were moments when their own priorities came before him, when milestones in his life passed quietly without their presence, and when our relationship was met with disapproval instead of support — even to the point of being told I wasn’t good enough for him while I was carrying his child.

Before the Public Trustee stepped in, I was told that some of Vic’s belongings were “assets” I’d have to return — yet others were taken or used without question. I remember the sting of that imbalance, the silent unfairness of watching sentiment be measured in paperwork and power. I stayed quiet then, knowing they held the documents and the authority to decide what mattered and what didn’t. I chose peace over confrontation, even when that peace came at the expense of my own voice.

And even now, it feels like nothing I do will ever be enough in their eyes. Despite two decades of shared life, love, and history, I am still treated as an outsider — a footnote to their version of his story.

But I know the truth of who we were. I was there through the laughter, the heartbreak, the rebuilding, the countless small moments that shaped the man he became and the father he was. I was there when he needed gentleness, when he found joy in Kenzo’s smile, when he whispered the words I now hold onto in the quiet hours of the night.

So even if they never see it, even if they rewrite the story to exclude me, I’ll continue to stand firm — not out of pride, but out of love. Because my place in Vic’s life, and in Kenzo’s story, doesn’t need their validation. It’s already written in the years we lived, in the child we raised, and in the quiet ways love still finds its way through the noise.