That weekend, I found a moment when my mother was relaxed, and I broached the subject again. We sat on the porch, the evening sun casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards.
“Mom, I talked to our lawyer and even reached out to some of the family,” I began, careful to keep my tone non-confrontational. “I just want to understand what’s happening.”
She nodded, taking a sip of her tea. “It’s about making sure everyone is cared for, in the way they need,” she explained, as if that would suffice.
“But that doesn’t explain the changes,” I insisted gently, trying to hide my frustration.
She sighed, setting her cup down with a quiet clink. “I had to adjust things based on everyone’s situation. It’s not about fairness in the way you might think. It’s about necessity.”
Her words were a mirror reflecting back my own fears. Was she expecting something to happen? Was there more she wasn’t telling me?
“I trust you,” I said, though the words felt fragile. “I just need to know that everything will be okay.”
She reached over, placing her hand on mine. “It will be,” she assured me, her eyes holding a truth I wasn’t sure I was ready to accept.
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