She smiled weakly. Even then.
At the hospital, the truth came out in fragments. A chronic illness. Years of symptoms ignored. Medication she couldn’t afford consistently. Appointments she skipped so she could send me money instead.
Money I had always assumed came from savings.
“There was never any inheritance,” she admitted quietly. “Mom didn’t leave us anything. I just didn’t want you to feel trapped. I wanted you to study freely.”
The furniture. The jewelry. Even our mother’s old things—sold off one by one.
For years, she had been shrinking her life so I could expand mine.
