My Stepmother Sold My Dad’s Favorite Car While I Was Reading His Eulogy — She Turned Pale When They Looked Under the Spare Tire

After the service, I walked outside with Aunt Lucy—and froze. Dad’s Shelby was gone. A battered flatbed sat in its place, ramps lowered. Karen stood nearby holding a thick envelope. Without meeting my eyes, she said, “It’s just a car. I sold it. Two thousand cash.” My heart broke. That car represented thirty years of Dad’s work, memories, and love.