Chapter 2

Leon was taken into the ER on a stretcher.

He'd suffered a heart attack.

While the doctors cut open his shirt and prepared the defibrillator, I stood outside the trauma room, signing a form acknowledging his critical condition.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. My signature came out crooked and barely recognizable.

The hospital hallway was empty. At three in the morning, all I could hear were ventilators and the steady beeping of monitors.

I sat alone in a chair, staring at the words "Cardiology Department" on the wall for two hours.

Then my phone buzzed.

It was a message from Sophie—a 15-second video.

It showed a grand mansion with white columns, a massive pool, and immaculately manicured lawns. Sophie stood on the terrace, holding a glass of wine.

A man's voice called from behind her. "Ms. Bennett, dinner is ready."

At the end of the video, she made a heart gesture at the camera.

The caption read, "Mom, this is the place you did everything to keep me from returning to. I'm so sick of living in your crappy little house."

My hand trembled as I read it—not from anger but from fear.

After watching the video three times, I noticed something.

The palm trees outside had distinctive markings found only in tropical climates. Those trees didn't grow in Crownmere or even Westport.

I sent her a screenshot of the trees.

"Where are you? That place isn't even in the country."

There was no response for five full minutes.

Then she sent a voice message.

I played it.

Her voice was full of laughter.

"You just can't stand seeing me happy. You've exploited me for 25 years, and now you can't even stand to see me enjoy a single good day?"

I sent her a long message, telling her to calm down. I told her that Leon was still in the ER and might not make it through the night. I told her that if she returned the money, the Carter family would drop the matter, and so would we.

She never replied.

The next morning, I discovered that she had posted screenshots of our entire conversation on social media.

The caption read, "Look at what my controlling adoptive mother said when I tried to pursue my happiness. All she cares about is money."

The comments were filled with people attacking me.

Someone dug up where I worked. Others called our front desk demanding that I be fired.

At 11:00 am, my supervisor called me into his office.

He looked deeply uncomfortable. On his desk was a notice placing me on indefinite suspension.

"Margaret, it's not that we don't believe you, but public pressure is just too much. Go home and deal with your family situation. We'll talk when things settle down."

I hadn't even made it out of the building when my phone rang again.

It was a call from a law firm.

Sophie had retained them.

They demanded that I transfer part of the property in my name as "compensation owed to my adopted daughter". If I refused, they threatened to pursue legal action.

The edge of the letter from the law firm sliced my finger, leaving a thin line of blood.

I barely felt it.

I clutched the letter and walked toward the trash can, but stopped. One thought had suddenly hit me.

Sophie had left with her ID and passport ready. She knew all of our account passwords. She already had a lawyer lined up.

None of this had been impulsive. She had been planning it for at least six months.

For six months, she had been clinging to me as if nothing was wrong. She ate everything I made for her. She left the entryway light on whenever I worked late.

I couldn't stop thinking about that "mansion" in the video and those carefully scripted lies.

I couldn't help wondering who exactly the so-called "powerful man in the country" advising her was.