I’m Scott, a single dad. Six months ago, I lost my 15-year-old son, Ben.
His funeral was full of people—everyone came, cried, hugged me, and said they’d stay in touch. But after a while, the calls and visits stopped. Everyone disappeared—except for Daniel.
Daniel was Ben’s best friend. He was 16, quiet, and skinny, but during Ben’s three-year fight with a heart condition, Daniel never left his side.
“Mr. Scott,” he once said, holding a notebook, “I made some new drawings for Ben. I think he’ll like them.”
Even when the hospital machines made more noise than our hope, Daniel kept coming. My family stopped visiting, but Daniel showed up every day.
One night, Ben, looking weak and tired, asked me, “Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” I said, stroking his hair.
“If I don’t make it… give Daniel my college money. He deserves it more than I do.”
“Don’t say that,” I told him, holding back tears. “You’ll get better. You’ll use that money yourself.”
“No, Dad. Promise me,” Ben said.
I paused, my heart heavy. “I promise,” I told him.
A few weeks later, Ben passed away peacefully.
I thought Daniel would stop coming around like everyone else. But the Tuesday after the funeral, he showed up at my door.
“I just wanted to check on you, Mr. Scott,” he said.
He looked tired and sad—too much pain for someone so young. I invited him in. He gave me a small wooden box he had made.
“I was going to give this to Ben… but I want you to have it,” he said.
Inside the box were special items: Ben’s hospital bracelet, a photo of the two boys laughing, and a note that said, “Thanks for being the best friend ever.”
From that day on, Daniel came by every Tuesday. We’d sit in my kitchen and talk about Ben. Sometimes we laughed, sometimes we cried, and sometimes we just sat quietly.
Once, I asked, “Tell me about when you both got detention.”
Daniel smiled. “Ben wanted to surprise you with birthday flowers, so we snuck out during lunch. Got caught crawling back through the gym window.”
“He never told me that part,” I said.
“He didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Daniel laughed.
One day, he told me he had a part-time job at a hardware store.
“College might not happen,” he said, stirring his coffee. “My mom’s struggling since Dad left, and I need to help out.”
My heart sank.
“What would you want to study?” I asked.
His eyes lit up. “Engineering. Or maybe art. Ben always said I’d be great at both.”
“He was right,” I said softly.
That night, I remembered the promise I made to Ben—
and I knew it was time to keep it.
A week later, I had dinner at my sister Rebecca’s house. Everything felt normal—until she asked, “Scott, what are you doing with Ben’s college fund?”
The room went quiet.
I put down my fork and said, “I’m giving it to Daniel.”
Rebecca’s mouth fell open. “Who?”
“Ben’s best friend.”
“You mean that boy from the hospital?” Mom asked. “Honey, that money should stay in the family.”
“It’s $25,000,” Uncle Will said. “Are you sure you’re thinking clearly?”
“I’ve never been more sure.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “My son is starting college too. He’s your nephew—your own family.”
I looked around. These were the same people who didn’t call, didn’t visit, and didn’t care.
“Where was family when I needed them?” I said.
Dad shifted awkwardly. “We had our own problems.”
“Like what? You couldn’t visit your grandson while he was dying?”
“I don’t do well with hospitals,” he mumbled.
“I don’t either. But I still went.”
“Scott, that’s not fair,” Mom said softly.
“And you, Rebecca? Too busy with work?”
Rebecca frowned. “I had deadlines…”
“And you, Mom? Why didn’t you come during Ben’s treatments?”
She sighed. “Hospitals make me nervous.”
I turned to Uncle Will. “Remember when I asked if you could watch Ben for just a bit so I could shower?”
He looked down. “I had things to do too.”
“But Daniel didn’t. He was only 16, but he came every week. He held Ben’s hand. Made him smile. While none of you even texted.”
“We’re family!” Rebecca snapped. “That boy means nothing to us!”
“No. That boy was family to Ben. More than any of you.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Aunt Joyce said. “You’re giving money to someone you barely know.”
“That ‘stranger’ helped plan Ben’s funeral. He picked out Ben’s favorite shirt because he actually knew him.”
“Good deeds don’t mean he should get the money,” Dad said.
“No, but they show who really cared.”
Mom gently grabbed my hand. “Please think again. Your nephew needs help.”
“He visited Ben once. And complained the whole time.”
“He was uncomfortable,” Rebecca said.
“So was Daniel. So was Ben. But Daniel still showed up,” I replied.
I stood up. “Fine. You want the money? Answer one question: What was Ben’s last day like?”
They just stared at me.
“Do you know what he said when the doctors gave us the bad news? What song he wanted to hear? What he wore that day?”
Silence.
“Daniel knew. He was there. You weren’t.”
“You’re just punishing us because we weren’t around,” Uncle Will said bitterly.
“No. I’m showing respect to the one person who was.”
“Fine!” Rebecca shouted. “Give the money away. But don’t come running to us later.”
“I won’t. My only mistake was expecting more from you.”
Three weeks later, I helped Daniel move into his college dorm.
His desk had engineering books on it. His drawings—many made for Ben—were hanging on the walls.
“Mr. Scott,” he said, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You already have,” I smiled. “You earned it.”
“I promise I’ll make you and Ben proud.”
“You already have, son.”
As I walked out, Daniel’s roommate smiled and said, “Your dad seems cool.”
Daniel looked at me and said, “Yeah. He is.”
And for the first time in a long while, my heart felt full again—
Because sometimes, real family is the one you choose.