” Irene said coldly. I refused to believe it—until I found a letter among my mother’s things. “Dear Eleanor, I regret abandoning you as a child. I’ve rewritten my will to include you. Please forgive me.—Charles” She hadn’t stolen a thing. Charles was her father. The inheritance was,
his way of making amends. Then came betrayal. Irene returned—with Neil. Papers in hand, they tried to trick me into signing something. But I had the truth. “My mother earned every penny,” I told them, tearing up the documents. Irene stormed out. Neil begged forgiveness. I sent him away.Clutching the letter, I stood in the silence she left behind, ready to protect her memory. Her story wasn’t one of theft—it was one of survival, and long-overdue justice.