“She’s probably just stressed.”
But Marcus didn’t let it go.
A few days later, he sent me something.
A photograph.
Lucy.
Standing outside a grocery store.
Wearing the same old blouse she had worn in our last video call.
Looking exhausted.
Holding a small bag of medication.
Then he sent another.
My mother.
Driving a brand-new SUV.
Then another.
Brianna.
Outside her newly opened salon.
My stomach dropped.
Because I realized something.
The money wasn’t disappearing.
It was being spent.
Just not on the person I sent it for.
I hired a private investigator.
At first, I only wanted answers.
But what I found was worse than betrayal.
It was a plan.
The investigator discovered that my mother had been telling people Lucy was “unstable.”
She had convinced neighbors that Lucy was irresponsible.
She had even told relatives that Lucy was lucky to have a husband who “put up with her.”
