Neither took responsibility until prosecutors showed them the records.
The rental property was frozen.
The truck was seized as part of the financial case.
Several accounts were locked.
Mom called me seventeen times in one week.
I answered once.
“Caleb,” she sobbed, “you are destroying this family.”
I looked through the hospital window at Naomi sleeping during an infusion.
“No,” I said. “I finally stopped you from destroying mine.”
Then I ended the call.
Months later, plea agreements were reached.
Kendra received probation, restitution requirements, and community service after cooperating with investigators.
My mother faced more serious consequences because investigators determined she had orchestrated most of the financial activity.
She received a prison sentence followed by supervised release and was ordered to pay restitution.
The house was eventually sold.
I didn’t fight to keep it.
I never wanted to see it again.
For me, the most important battle was happening somewhere else.
Naomi’s cancer treatment was brutal.
There were surgeries.
Infusions.
Days when she couldn’t eat.
Nights when I sat beside her bathroom floor because she was too weak to return to bed.
Sometimes she apologized.
That made me angry in a way I couldn’t explain.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I should’ve found another way to reach you.”
“They isolated you.”
“I should’ve fought harder.”
“You survived.”
One night, she looked at me from beneath a hospital blanket.
“What if I don’t?”
I took her hand.
