The silence between us was suffocating.
My mother stared at me, eyes glassy with unshed tears, lips parted as if she wanted to say something—anything—that would make this better.
But nothing could.
She had signed the document. Whether she had known what it was or not, whether Bernard had deceived her or not—it didn’t change the fact that my father’s legacy had been stolen right from under him.
A part of me wanted to scream, to demand why she hadn’t questioned it, why she had trusted Bernard of all people. But another part of me—the part that had seen her suffer, that had watched her wake up every day trapped in a body that no longer listened to her—knew this wasn’t simple.
She was a victim too.
I exhaled shakily, my fingers still clenched around the paper. I wasn’t sure what I had ex
