The lawyer’s words from the day before followed me like a shadow.
“He’s been doing this since before your mother died.”
I barely slept. My mind kept replaying the moment I heard it, that strange twist of fear and tenderness knotted together.
I had gone to bed wanting to confront Daniel, to demand answers, to understand why he would quietly build a trust fund in my name without telling me.
But when I woke, with weak morning light slipping through my blinds, I felt only a cold pit in my stomach.
Why my mother?
Why that timing?
Why had Daniel been connected to my family long before I ever knew him?
The questions clawed at me as I dressed in the soft gray sweater I always wore on difficult days. My fingers trembled as I buttoned it, the air in my apartment suddenly too still, too heavy
