“Mom, pack your things — we’re leaving tomorrow. I already sold your beach house.” She said it like a victory. I stayed quiet… knowing something she never imagined I’d find out

Angela arrived at her apartment on Tuesday night. I knew this because Aurora, who seemed to have informants scattered throughout the neighbourhood, came to tell me the next day.

— Antonia, your daughter got back last night. I saw her go in with just one suitcase, but she looked absolutely terrible—pale, dark circles under her eyes, as if she had been crying the whole flight. Alone. Completely alone. And here’s the strange thing, Antonia, when the doorman asked her for the keys, she didn’t have them. She had to ask the superintendent to let her in with the emergency copy.

Interesting. Edward had the keys, which strongly suggested he had decided not to come back. Or perhaps Angela had found out something about him and had fled. In any case, my daughter was back, and very soon she would receive my little welcome gift.

Mr. Peterson called me that same afternoon. — Mrs. Brooks, the letter was delivered an hour ago. The doorman confirmed that your daughter received it in person.

“Perfect. How long did we give her?”

— Thirty days to vacate the apartment, as per legal standards. But Mrs. Brooks, are you sure you want to go through with this? She is your daughter, after all.

“Mr. Peterson, my daughter kicked me out of my own house with a two-minute phone call. She sold my belongings without remorse. She treated me like garbage. Now, she’s going to learn that actions have serious consequences.”

— I understand. I just wanted to make sure you had considered all the implications.

“I have considered them, Mr. Peterson. Every single one.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep a wink. I lay awake, vividly imagining Angela’s face as she read the letter. The initial confusion. Then the disbelief. And finally, the panic. She would probably think it was a mistake, a scam attempt. But when she called to verify, she would discover that everything was completely legitimate.

The next day, as if she had been waiting for my call, the phone rang precisely at eight in the morning. It was Angela, and her voice was laced with raw desperation.

— Mom! Mom! I need to speak to you right now.

“Good morning, honey. How was Europe?”

— Mom, I don’t have time for small talk. I received a very strange letter yesterday. It says I have to vacate my apartment in 30 days. It has to be a mistake, right? Do you know anything about this?

“An eviction notice. How odd. Who is it from?”

— From a company I’ve never even heard of. It’s called… Wait, let me find the letter. Robert Investments, Inc. Do you know this company?

Robert had used his own name for the company. How poetic. “No, honey. I’ve never heard that name. Are you certain the letter is legitimate?”

— That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out. Mom, I need you to help me. I don’t know what to do. Edward abandoned me in Europe. He ran off with another woman. And now I come back to this mess. I don’t understand what’s happening.

There was the confirmation. Edward had left her in the lurch. Probably when the money ran dry. Or when he realized the legal issues back home were more severe than he thought. Poor Angela. She had sacrificed her family for a man who was utterly worthless.

“I’m so very sorry, honey. Where are you right now?”

— I’m in the apartment. But I don’t know for how much longer. Mom, can I come over? I need to… I need to talk to someone. I don’t have anyone else.

The irony was absolute. Now that the man for whom she had abandoned me was gone, she remembered she had a mother.

“Of course, honey. Come over whenever you want.”

— I’m on my way.

I hung up the phone and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I had to be pitch-perfect for this performance. I put on my most conservative gray dress, tied my hair into a simple bun, and rehearsed my expression of a worried but resigned mother. When Angela arrived, she would see exactly what she expected: a poor, vulnerable widow who had been abandoned by her own daughter.

Angela arrived an hour later. When I opened the door, I was struck by how unwell she looked. She had lost weight, had deep circles under her eyes, and her expensive clothes looked crumpled and neglected. Her eyes were red from crying.

“Mom,” she said. And for a fleeting moment, I thought she was going to hug me. But she stopped, as if suddenly recalling how things had ended between us.

“Come in, honey. Do you want some coffee?”

— Yes, please.

We sat in the kitchen, at the very same table where I had been reading Robert’s documents weeks ago. Angela looked small in that chair, lost, just like when she was a child and came to tell me about her problems at school.

— Mom, I am so sorry for the way I left. I know I didn’t treat you right.

“It’s in the past, honey.”

— No, it’s not. I treated you terribly. I said awful things. And now… Her voice cracked. Now I have no one.

“What happened with Edward?”

— He left with a 25-year-old hotel waitress in Paris. It turns out there was never any business venture in Europe. It was all a huge lie. He just wanted to escape the debts he had here and use the money from your house sale to fund his little adventure.

“All the debts?”

— Yes, Mom. So many debts. It seems he had been taking out loans for years, using the apartment we lived in as collateral. But now I find out he wasn’t the owner of the apartment. How is that even possible?

Here was my opportunity. “I don’t know, honey. Property matters are very complicated.”

— The problem is that now the banks are coming after me for his debts. They say since we were married, I’m also responsible. And on top of that, this eviction notice. Mom, I don’t know what to do. I don’t have money. I don’t have a job. I don’t have anywhere to live.

She began to cry—genuine tears of utter desperation. And for a moment, my mother’s heart wrenched. I wanted to pull her close, comfort her, tell her everything would be fine. But then I remembered the coldness in her voice when she called me from the doctor’s office, the ease with which she had cast me aside, the way she had spoken to me as if I were nothing but a burden.

“Did you speak to a lawyer about the letter?”

— I don’t have money for a lawyer, Mom. We blew all the cash in Europe. Edward took what little was left when he ran off with that woman.

“So what are you going to do?”

— I don’t know. I thought maybe I could stay with you for a while, just until I find a job and can secure a small place to live.

There was the question I had been waiting for. After kicking me out of my own home, selling my possessions, and treating me like garbage, she now expected me to ride to her rescue. She wanted the poor widow she had created to save her from the consequences of her own actions.

“Of course, honey, this will always be your home.”

Angela looked up at me with surprise, as if she hadn’t expected the surrender to be so easy. — Really, Mom, after everything that happened?

“You are my daughter, Angela. That will never change.”

She got up and this time she did hug me. It was a desperate embrace, like someone drowning clinging to the only piece of driftwood they can find. I hugged her back, too, but not with the unconditional love of before. Now, there was calculation in my embrace. Strategy.

— Thank you, Mom. I promise I’ll find a job soon. I won’t be a burden.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Rest, recover, and then we’ll look at your options.”

Angela left that afternoon to pick up a few belongings from her apartment. I stayed in the kitchen, reflecting on how easily it had worked. She had come to me exactly as planned. Broken, desperate, with no other options. And best of all, she suspected nothing. To her, I was still the poor, abandoned mother who needed her compassion.

But this was only the first part of my plan. Having her live with me would give me the perfect opening for the next phase. I was going to let her settle in, feel secure, and believe she had found a safe harbour in my house. And then, when she least expected it, I was going to teach her the critical difference between being poor by choice and being poor by consequence.

That night, I called Mr. Peterson.

“Mr. Peterson, I need you to do one more thing for me.”

— Tell me, Mrs. Brooks.

“I want you to investigate Edward’s debts. I want to know the exact amount he owes, to whom, and what legal options I have to separate them from my daughter.”

— That will take time, but it’s entirely feasible.

“Perfect. And Mr. Peterson, I need you to keep this an absolute secret. No one can know I am behind this investigation.”

— Of course, Mrs. Brooks. May I ask what your final endgame is?

“My plan, Mr. Peterson, is quite simple. I’m going to save my daughter, but first, she has to understand what it truly means to hit rock bottom.”

When I hung up, I poured myself a glass of the expensive wine Robert had been saving for a special occasion. It had been a long time since I’d had a special occasion quite like this one. The game had begun, and for the first time in months, I had all the good cards in my hand.

Angela moved into my house the next day. She arrived with two suitcases and a single cardboard box—all that remained of her former life. I watched her unpack in her old room, the same one she had slept in during her teenage years, and I could see the humiliation in her every movement. She had gone from living in a luxury condo to taking refuge in her childhood bedroom.

— Mom, I found this in the apartment, she said, showing me a manila envelope. It was among Edward’s things. It has your name on it.

It was yet another one of Robert’s envelopes. My heart rate quickened, but I maintained my composure. “My name? How strange.”

— Yes, look.

She showed me the envelope. Indeed, it had my name written on it in Robert’s neat hand, but this one was different from the one I had found in my dresser. This one was smaller, newer.

— Maybe Edward found it among Dad’s things when he died and forgot to give it to me, Angela speculated.

“It’s possible. May I see it?”

I opened the envelope right in front of her. Inside was a short letter and a small key. The letter read:

“Antonia, if you are reading this after having received the main envelope, it means our daughter is going through a difficult time. This key opens a safety deposit box at the central bank, downtown branch. The number is 247. There is something there that can help you help her, but use it wisely. With eternal love, Robert.”

Angela read the letter over my shoulder. — A safety deposit box? Dad had a safety deposit box? I had no idea.

“I didn’t either,” I lied smoothly. “Your father never mentioned this to me. Do you think we should go see what’s inside?”

— I don’t know, honey. Maybe it’s better to leave things as they are.

— But Mom, maybe there’s something important in there—documents or, I don’t know, maybe something valuable that can help us.

The desperation in her voice was palpable. Angela was clutching at any possibility of finding a way out of her predicament, and I was going to let her cling a little longer before revealing the full picture.

“Okay,” I said after a calculated pause. “We can go tomorrow.”

That night, Angela and I had dinner together for the first time in months. She had cooked, trying to make herself useful, but the food tasted of guilt and desperation. She told me more details about what had transpired in Europe, and each story was worse than the last.

— Edward lied about absolutely everything, Mom, not just the business, but the debts too. I thought he only owed a small amount of money, but it turns out he’s over $100,000 in the red. And the worst part is, he used my name for some of the loans without my knowledge.

“How is that possible?”

— He forged my signature. When I married him, I gave him some documents to handle the banking for our joint account. I never thought he’d use them for this.

“Do you have any way to prove you didn’t know?”

— I don’t know, it’s all so incredibly complicated. The banks say that since we were married, I’m responsible for all his debts anyway.

“And the divorce?”

— I don’t even know where Edward is now. He just vanished. His phone is dead. He doesn’t answer emails, nothing. It’s as if he dropped off the face of the earth.

Perfect. Edward had fled like the rat he had always been, leaving Angela to face the consequences of her choices alone. In a strange way, he had done me a favour. Now my daughter was experiencing the exact same feeling I had when he abandoned me: betrayal by someone she had trusted implicitly.