Three days later, my mother received a letter, and when she opened it, I heard the gasp from across the street as I sat in my car, parked discreetly out of sight. She went pale, her face a stark contrast to the vibrant flowers blooming in her garden.
The letter was from my lawyer. It laid out, in precise legal terms, my intention to file for custody of my father’s estate. The house, which had been a haven for my siblings and me in our younger years, was rightfully part of the inheritance my father left behind. My mother had kept it from me, hoping I wouldn’t question the status quo.
I had spent the past few days in a whirlwind, consulting with attorneys and making plans to secure a stable future for Hannah and me. The betrayal still stung, but I had no intention of letting it derail us. I had to keep moving forward, for Hannah’s sake.
