“Mom, Starting Next Month, We’ll Transfer All Your Money To My Account.” My Son Said That, And I Just Smiled. That Night, As Always, He Came With His Wife For A Free Dinner.

I looked him straight in the eyes and I told him in the calmst voice I could find that I still wasn’t sure, that I needed more time. His wife scoffed. “Patricia, this is ridiculous.

Lawrence is just trying to help you. I don’t understand why you’re being so distrustful.”

Distrustful? She called me distrustful.

And the saddest thing was that she was right, but not in the way she thought. Lawrence stood up. His expression was hard now.

Without the mask of a smile. “Mom, this is for your own good. You can’t keep managing your finances alone.

It’s obvious. Look at how you sold the furniture without thinking. Look at the irrational decisions you’re making.”

Irrational.

Selling my own furniture in my own house was irrational. But stealing from me for years wasn’t. I didn’t say anything.

I just held his gaze until he looked away. They left that night without saying goodbye. And I stayed seated in my kitchen, looking at those unsigned papers, knowing that the war had just begun.

A silent war, a war that I had to win. Because if I lost, I wouldn’t just lose my money. I would lose my dignity, my autonomy, my life.

The days after that dinner became strange. Lawrence didn’t call me again. He didn’t visit me again.

It was as if he had decided to punish me with his absence. As if he believed I would fall apart without him. That I would beg him to come back.

That I would finally sign those papers just to get his attention. But I didn’t fall apart. For the first time in years, the silence of my house didn’t feel empty.

It felt full of something different. It felt full of clarity. I spent those days going through every detail of my financial life, every receipt I had saved, every bank statement, every paper that had any connection to money.

And the more I looked, the more I found. I discovered that 3 years ago when Lawrence asked me to lend him my ID because he had lost his and needed to pick up an urgent package. He had done something else with it.

He had opened an electricity service account in my name at an address that wasn’t mine. at his house. For 3 years, the electricity account for Lawrence’s house had been in my name.

And when he didn’t pay on time, the penalties were accumulating on my credit history. That’s why I had been denied a small loan last year when my car needed urgent repairs. That’s why my credit score had mysteriously gone down.

I called the electricity company. I explained that the account wasn’t mine, that I had never lived at that address. The woman on the phone told me I needed to file a sworn statement, that I had to report this as identity fraud.

Identity fraud committed by my own son. I hung up the phone and stared at the wall for I don’t know how long, trying to process how I had gotten to this point, trying to understand at what moment my son had become this. That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I stayed awake staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the city outside. And I thought about all the times I had justified his behavior. All the times I had told myself that he was busy, that he had his own life, that I was being demanding by expecting more from him.

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