“It’s filed with the county,” my mother replied. “You can verify it. Or start packing.”
Carolina fumbled for her phone. “I’ll fight this.”
Inside, my father’s study was torn apart — drawers emptied, papers scattered. She’d been searching. My mother walked to the bookshelf, pulled out a copy of Moby Dick, and swung it open to reveal a hidden safe.
Carolina froze.
My mother inserted a key and opened it. Inside: documents, jewelry, and several sealed envelopes addressed to me.
The first letter was brief and devastating:
“James, I see Carolina clearly now. I was blind for too long. Your mother and I have safeguarded what’s yours — the house, the savings, the things that matter. Don’t let her shake you. You are, and always will be, my greatest pride.”
By the time I finished reading, Carolina’s facade had shattered. She screamed accusations, called us liars — but the truth was immovable. Within a week, she was gone. Within a month, investigators uncovered theft from my father’s accounts — and that she’d canceled the medical appointment that might have saved him.
Continue reading…
