As I sat on the carpet of my mother’s bedroom, her scent lingered in the air, her worn sweatpants a quiet symbol of who she was—practical, strong, and unyielding. Neil joined me gently, offering comfort as I tried to process her absence. “She never let go of these,” I said through tears. “Even when we had money.” “She had money?” he asked, surprised. I nodded. “She inherited it, but never said from who. She stayed frugal, like she didn’t trust it.”Later that day, a letter arrived, handwritten and harsh:
“You’re a thief. Return what you stole.” I was stunned. My mother—a thief? Neil suggested it might relate to the mysterious inheritance. Reluctantly, I agreed to investigate. The accusation led us to a crumbling estate and a woman named Irene, who claimed my mother manipulated her dying father, Charles, into rewriting his will. “She took half our inheritance,