At the restaurant, my mother looked at me and said, “Sit somewhere else. This table is for real family—not adopted daughters.” Everyone laughed before pushing the $3,418 check toward me. I quietly smiled and paid it in full. But just as I stood to leave, someone behind me said, “Please wait a moment.”

“No,” I said. “Because you knew I would stop rescuing you.”

The restaurant had grown so quiet that I could hear the faint clink of dishes from the kitchen. My mother stood with both hands gripping the back of her chair, her elegant birthday dress suddenly looking like a costume from a life that had ended mid-evening.

Then her phone began to ring.

She looked down at the screen.

It was the bank.

Victoria watched her expression change and said, “You should answer that.”

Lorraine pressed the phone to her ear.

Within seconds, the color drained from her face.

“The mortgage?” she whispered.

Then she looked directly at me.

“Paige,” she said, her voice shaking, “they said the house account has been frozen.”
Part 4: The Account They Thought I Would Refill

“The house account has been frozen,” my mother repeated.

Her voice sounded smaller than I had ever heard it. The banker had apparently explained that several unusual transfers connected to Grant’s company had triggered a review of every account linked to the trust.