Within forty-eight hours, Naomi was gone from that house.
I moved her into a furnished apartment near the oncology center while my attorney worked on separating every financial account.
She cried the first night because the bedroom had a lock.
I asked what was wrong.
She touched the door.
“No one can come in unless I let them.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Over the following months, everything unraveled.
Investigators discovered forged signatures.
Unauthorized bank transfers.
Identity theft.
Fraudulent credit-card applications.
Money I had intended for household expenses had been diverted toward vehicles, jewelry, vacations, and Mom’s investment property.
The new house renovations hadn’t been an act of generosity.
They had been camouflage.
Mom had created the image of a successful family while the woman I actually sent the money to was being slowly erased from the household.
Eventually, Kendra tried blaming everything on Mom.
Mom blamed Kendra.
Both blamed Naomi.
