As I sat in front of the bank manager, my heart pounded with a mix of resolve and sadness. The document I slid across the desk was a formal request to remove Michael from my account and freeze any further activity until a full audit could be completed. It was a step I never imagined I would have to take, especially not against my own child. The manager, a kind man with graying hair and a gentle demeanor, nodded slowly as he scanned the document, understanding the gravity of the situation without needing me to explain much.
“Mrs. Anderson,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “I want to assure you that we’ll handle this matter with the utmost care and confidentiality.” His reassurance was comforting, yet it couldn’t completely ease the ache in my chest.
I left the bank with a mix of emotions swirling inside me. The sun had broken through the overcast sky, casting a warm glow over the streets of our small town, a glaring contrast to the storm within me. The betrayal from my son was a wound that wouldn’t heal easily, but I knew I had to protect myself and what little I had left.
