That silence was the reason she felt safe stealing from me.

But sitting in that driveway, staring at her curtains twitching like she was still watching, I finally saw the pattern. Every time I built something, she found a way to touch it—take credit for it, control it, or rip it out of my hands.

Not this time.

That night, I didn’t sleep. I spread bank statements across the table, wrote down dates, highlighted deposits, pulled old emails—every piece of proof that this money had one purpose: Mia’s future.

My mother had the cash.

But I had what she didn’t expect: a paper trail… and a line I was finally ready to draw.