As Laura mourned her mother, each keepsake told a story of resilience and love—but a mysterious letter, accusing her mom of theft, shattered the solace of her grief.
What secrets lay hidden in her family’s fortune, and how far would Laura go to uncover the truth?
I sat cross-legged on the carpet of my mom’s room, surrounded by pieces of her life.
Her favorite sweater lay in my lap, and I held it close, inhaling the faint lavender scent that still clung to it.
The familiar smell brought a fresh wave of tears to my eyes.
Nearby, her infamous sweatpants, patched and re-patched a hundred times, lay folded.
They looked more like a work of art than an article of clothing. I let out a soft laugh through my tears, shaking my head.
Neil appeared in the doorway, his footsteps careful, as though he didn’t want to disturb my fragile state.
“Laura, love,” he said softly, crouching beside me. His hand rested gently on my shoulder.
“You don’t have to do this alone.
We’ll get through it together.”
I nodded, swiping at my damp cheeks with my sleeve.
“It’s just… it feels like every little thing brings her back. Even these sweatpants.” I gestured toward the well-worn fabric.
“She could’ve bought a hundred new pairs, but she refused to give these up.”
Neil picked them up, turning them over in his hands, the patches catching his attention.
“Honestly, these belong in some kind of hall of fame for persistence. Your mom had money.
Why would she keep these?”
A faint smile touched my lips.
“Because we weren’t always rich. My childhood was… tough. Mom worked nonstop—cleaner, caregiver, you name it.
She made sacrifices just so I could have the basics. Then, out of nowhere, this huge inheritance changed everything.”
Neil’s eyebrows lifted. “She never told you where it came from?”
I shook my head.
“No.
I asked her so many times, but she’d just get quiet or brush it off. After the money came, we didn’t have to struggle anymore, but Mom stayed the same. She taught me to respect every penny.
She knew what it felt like to have nothing.”
Neil wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into a comforting side hug.
“You’re going to make her proud, Laura. You’ve got her strength. You’ll honor her in everything you do.”
I leaned into him, letting his warmth steady me.
“I hope so, Neil. I really hope so.”
Neil was in the basement sorting through dusty boxes when the sharp chime of the doorbell rang out.
Wiping my hands on my jeans, I opened the door to find a mail carrier standing there with a single envelope in his hand.
It was addressed to my mom, in handwriting that was jagged and bold.
“She passed away,” I said softly, my voice catching.
The mail carrier’s face softened. “Sorry for your loss,” he replied before walking away.
I closed the door, staring at the envelope in my hand.
Something about it felt… strange. The paper was slightly crumpled, the ink dark and hurried.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I slid a finger under the flap, tearing it open.
My breath hitched as I read the words inside, written in sharp, black ink:
“You’re a thief. Return what you stole if you have any conscience left.”
“What the hell?” I whispered, my heart pounding.
The letter trembled in my hands as a chill ran through me. My mom—a thief? No, that wasn’t possible.
“Laura?” Neil’s voice called out as he ascended the basement stairs.
He stepped into the room, dust on his shirt and a curious look on his face.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Without a word, I handed him the letter, my hands still shaking. He read it, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“A thief?” Neil said slowly, looking up at me.
“Your mom?”
“No,” I said firmly, shaking my head.
“She wasn’t a thief, Neil. She was kind, honest, and hardworking. This… this has to be some kind of mistake.”
Neil didn’t respond right away.
He studied the letter again, his face thoughtful.
“Laura,” he began carefully, “you told me your mom never wanted to talk about where the money came from. What if—what if there’s some truth to this?”
I glared at him, crossing my arms defensively. “Are you seriously suggesting my mom stole that inheritance?”
Neil held up his hands in surrender.
“I’m not accusing her, okay?
But this letter—look, it mentions an address. Maybe we should go and figure out what this is all about.”
I hesitated, glancing back at the letter. As much as I hated the idea, Neil had a point.
“Fine,” I said quietly. “But only because I need to prove this letter wrong.”
The house loomed large as we approached, its towering structure casting shadows over the untamed garden. Though once magnificent, the cracked facade and overgrown hedges hinted at years of neglect.
The door creaked open to reveal a woman who looked as though she had stepped out of a fashion magazine.
Her hair was glossy, her clothes perfectly tailored, and her jewelry glittered in the fading sunlight.
The sharp contrast between her polished appearance and the house’s state of decay was unsettling.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone crisp and unwelcoming.
“Irene?” I ventured, my voice wavering.
She nodded, her expression unreadable. “I’m Laura,” I continued hesitantly.
“My mother… she’s the one you accused in your letter.”
Irene’s eyes narrowed as she studied me. For a moment, I thought she might shut the door in our faces, but then she stepped aside, waving us in with a flick of her manicured hand.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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