Chapter 1

My ungrateful children framed me for stealing our neighbor's gold necklace, pretending they were dead broke.

The officer on duty happened to be one of my former students.

"You're a woman of integrity, Mrs. Evans. I believe you. Where are your kids?"

I smiled bitterly, telling him my children were just ordinary folks with no power to help.

The next second, on the precinct TV, my son and daughter appeared as "outstanding young entrepreneurs," doing an interview for their newly launched multi-million-dollar charity foundation.

During a commercial break, my son whispered to my daughter:

"See? Mom's still too stubborn. She needs to plead guilty. She has to drop that self-righteous attitude!"

My daughter nodded. "Exactly. That's why Dad died! This is her final test. Once the storm passes, we'll hand the foundation over to her so she can relax for the rest of her life!"

Little did they know, the doctor had just diagnosed me with Alzheimer's.

By tomorrow, I might not even remember who they are.

"Mrs. Evans, I treated you like a sister! That necklace was the only thing my mother left me... How could you?"

Brenda wouldn't stop dabbing at her tears.

I shook my head frantically, my throat tight. "I didn't take it, Brenda. I swear I didn't."

Yet that family heirloom of hers had just been found under my bed.

Caught red-handed.

I had been a high school teacher for thirty years.

My husband died young, and I raised two children all on my own.

I had never picked a fight with anyone, let alone stolen anything.

When Brandon and Chloe couldn't afford college tuition, I pawned my wedding ring instead of begging anyone for a single dime.

All my life, I lived with pride and honesty. How did I end up a thief?

Just then, the interrogation room door swung open.

The moment I saw Brandon and Chloe, all my grievance and terror burst open.

My kids were here. They would believe me. They would get me out!

"Brandon! Chloe! Take me home, please."

I tried to stand up, but the handcuffs jerked me back into the chair.

Brandon's voice was ice-cold. "Mom, you can go home. But you have to admit your mistake first."

I froze. "What mistake?"

Chloe's eyes welled with tears, her voice choking up.

"Mom, just admit it. Please. We'll take you home right now."

Seeing my daughter cry broke my heart into pieces.

I remembered when she was little, running a burning fever and delirious. I carried her through a blizzard for three blocks just to find an open urgent care.

Back then, I swore I would never let her suffer in this life.

"Chloe, I didn't steal anything," I tried to explain. "Mom might... Mom's memory might be slipping. I've been so forgetful lately, and I zone out..."

"Mom."

Brandon cut me off impatiently. "Stop using your memory as an excuse! Your biggest flaw is that you're too damn proud, and you never admit when you're wrong!"

Too proud? Never admit my mistakes?

My mouth fell open as I stared at him in disbelief.

"You've been like this since we were kids. You always had to be the best, and you never bowed your head," Brandon said coldly.

"Dad died early, and you held the family together. We're grateful for that. But it was your self-righteous pride that killed him!"

I shuddered, feeling like ice water had been poured down my spine.

"When Dad got sick, Uncle and the others pooled their money to help. What did you do?"

"You threw the cash right back in their faces! You said no Evans would ever take charity, even if we starved to death! And what happened? Dad missed his window for treatment!"

Chloe wiped her tears and chimed in.

"Mom, admitting you're wrong isn't shameful. We just don't want to see your pride destroy you again."

So that was it.

In their eyes, I was never a mother to be proud of.

I felt my heart shattering into dust.

Back then, their uncle did bring money—fifty thousand dollars.

But how did he get that cash?

He had worked with shady contractors, skimming wages off vulnerable migrant workers and cutting corners with toxic materials!

My husband had lived a clean, honest life. On his deathbed, he held my hand with his trembling fingers and begged me never to let dirty money keep him alive.

I never told the kids. I thought keeping the truth from them was protecting them.

I never imagined they had hated me for it all these years.

My hands shook as I pulled an envelope from my pocket, trying to hand it to them.

I had written it last night when my head didn't hurt as bad, telling the whole truth.

I was terrified that in a few days, I wouldn't remember anything at all.

"Brandon, Chloe... Mom wrote this for you. My head hasn't been right lately, and I was scared I'd forget... Please, just read it..."

Brandon didn't even look at the letter. His eyes were full of disgust.

"Enough, Mom! Even now, you're still putting on an act? Still making excuses?"

He shoved his chair back and stood up. "Looks like until you actually suffer a real consequence, you'll never learn to humble yourself!"

Chloe stood up too, her eyes drowning in disappointment.

"Are you leaving?" Panic seized me. I reached out to grab them.

"Think it over. Then call your public defender."

Brandon turned and walked out without looking back.

"Chloe..."

I sobbed, but she never turned around.