And then—
My daughter stepped into the frame. Amber, in her perfect cream sweater, hair in its eternal high knot. Only this time she wasn’t posing.
She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t performing for likes. She shut the bedroom door behind her and exhaled like she had been holding her breath for years.
“Mom, we have to settle this now,” she said. Martha lifted her eyes slowly. The sickness had carved the edges of her face, but her gaze was steady—clear, alert, almost brighter than I remembered.
“Settle what, darling?”
Amber crossed her arms. “The house. The accounts.
Everything. Ryan says we need signatures before… before you’re too sick to—”
Martha tilted her head. “Before I die, you mean.”
Amber flinched but didn’t deny it.
“It’s not like that. We just need to be prepared.”
“For what?” Martha asked, her voice soft but sharp enough to cut. “My funeral?
The inheritance? Your next condo investment?”
Amber’s jaw twitched. For a moment she looked like the little girl who used to scrape her knees on the driveway.
Then the mask dropped back into place. “Mom… we deserve something. We built our lives.
And Dad—Dad’s not good with money. We’re trying to protect the family assets.”
Martha smiled faintly. A sad, tired smile I’d never seen in real life.
“I see,” she whispered. “Can you please sign the transfer papers?” Amber said. “Ryan has them ready.
It’s the smart thing to do.”
A silence fell—long, heavy, like a coat sliding off a chair. Then Martha reached for the nightstand drawer. She took out a pen.
Amber’s shoulders relaxed. Relief softened her mouth. Until Martha set the pen down again.
“No,” she said. Amber blinked. “What?”
“No,” my wife repeated.
“I won’t sign away my home. And I won’t leave your father with nothing.”
“Mom,” Amber hissed, “you don’t understand—”
“Oh, I understand perfectly.” Martha shifted, slower now, steadying herself on the pillows. “I raised two brilliant children.
But somewhere along the way, I also raised two strangers.”
Amber’s face crumpled—not from sadness, but from frustration. “He doesn’t need a two-million-dollar house!” she snapped. “He doesn’t need the savings!
We do. Ryan and I do. We’re planning our futures.”
“And what future do you plan for me?” Martha asked.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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