Back at home, I brewed a fresh cup of tea and sat at my kitchen table, the same spot where I had spent countless mornings pondering over crossword puzzles and sipping coffee. The familiarity of the routine was comforting, a reminder that despite everything, I still had control over my life.

The phone rang, snapping me from my reverie. It was Michael, his voice a blend of anger and desperation. “Mom, why would you do this? You know I was just trying to help,” he pleaded, but the sincerity was missing, replaced by an edge of irritation.

I took a deep breath, the kind that steadies you before a leap. “Michael, this isn’t just about the money,” I replied, my voice steady despite the tremor in my heart. “It’s about trust, and right now, I need to protect myself.”