When Mom woke and saw me, she began crying before saying my name.
Vanessa followed me downstairs. “Don’t make this dramatic. She agreed.”
Mom stared at the floor.
I asked, “Agreed to what?”
Vanessa sighed. “I manage the property. She needs supervision. The renters cover expenses.”
“The mortgage is paid from my account.”
“Utilities aren’t free.”
I looked around again. No smoke detector near the cot. No window large enough for an emergency exit. A space heater plugged into an overloaded extension cord.
Then I spotted a stack of envelopes on a shelf, all addressed to me, unopened and hidden behind paint cans.
My smile returned.
Not because anything was funny.
Because Vanessa had finally made a mistake big enough to prove everything.
“You just made this very easy,” I said.
At 7:12 p.m., I photographed every room. At 7:35, I called the attorney who handled the purchase. At 8:10, I sent her the deed, bank records, and photos.
