The fluorescent lights in the bank office flickered slightly as I sat across from Ms. Holloway, the estate attorney. Her desk was a sea of meticulously organized papers, but it was the thick manila envelope in front of her that drew my attention. Printed on the front was my mother’s name, and beneath it, the date: March 14, 2023. She glanced at me over her glasses, her expression unreadable. “This is the final version,” she said calmly, pushing the envelope slightly towards me. I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the edge of the table. The room felt smaller, the air more stifling. My mind raced, recalling every assurance my mother had ever given me. I could almost hear her voice, promising that the family would always be my safety net. “You might want to review it carefully,” Ms. Holloway added, her voice steady, almost too steady. My heart sank, a quiet dread settling in as I slowly reached for the envelope, the weight of it heavy with unspoken truths. What was inside that had shifted the ground beneath my feet? I had to know. The story wasn’t over yet.
