The signature was wrong.
The slant was wrong.
And the little line beneath the H was missing.
My eyes moved to David.
“You knew about this.”
He swallowed.
“Mom, we were trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
He said nothing.
“From the woman who has paid your mortgage, covered your business debts, and allowed you to live here without paying rent?”
Brooke’s face changed.
“That’s not fair.”
I turned toward her.
“No, Brooke. What’s not fair is putting a seventy-three-year-old widow through eighteen months of humiliation because you want her property.”
David’s voice hardened.
“Stop making us sound like criminals.”
I held up the paper.
“Then explain the forged signature.”
Nobody moved.
Outside, rain began tapping against the dining-room windows.
The candles on my cake had melted into little pools of wax.
I looked at the family gathered around the table.
Some appeared horrified.
Others seemed determined not to see what was happening.
I suddenly understood how cruelty survives inside families.
It doesn’t always need everyone to agree.
Sometimes it only needs everyone else to remain silent.
I closed the folder.
“I’m leaving now. My attorney will be contacting you.”
David stood abruptly.
