Chapter 3

"Mom, open the door. It's me."

I stood outside my mother's security door, ringing the bell three times.

Finally, the door swung open. My elderly mother, wrapped in a heavy cardigan, gasped when she saw me. She peeked behind me before opening the door just a crack.

"What are you doing here?"

"Mom, I got divorced."

"I know," she said flatly. "Richard came by two days ago. He sat here all afternoon, brought me groceries and some expensive tea."

I froze.

"What did he tell you?"

My mother sighed, pulling me into the living room.

The TV was on, the volume turned down low. On the coffee table sat two empty paper cups and a box of premium tea—Richard's trademark gesture.

"He said you’ve been going through menopause these past two years, that your temper has gotten terrible, and you've become completely paranoid. He said he couldn't take it anymore, which is why he filed."

"He also said he was worried you might do something drastic, and asked me to talk some sense into you."

My jaw dropped.

"Mom, he’s lying to you."

"Lying about what?" My mother frowned. "Richard sat right there and cried twice. A grown man crying like that—you think he was acting?"

"He even told me about Julian. He said Julian is caught in the middle of your constant fighting, stressed out of his mind and unable to sleep at night."

"Evelyn, you're almost fifty. You can't be this stubborn. Richard said you’re refusing to sign some paperwork. Why are you making things so hard for your own kid?"

"Mom!" My throat tightened.

"Those properties are what Richard and I built together over twenty-five years! He manipulated Julian into getting me to sign them over to Julian's name, and now he's forcing Julian to transfer them to him—"

"Enough!"

My mother slammed the remote onto the coffee table.

"Listen to yourself! Your son is lying? Richard is lying? Is everyone in the world evil except for you?"

"When your father opposed your marriage to Richard back then, what did you say? You said he was a good man and told us not to worry."

"Now that you’re divorced, you’re claiming everyone is scamming you. Evelyn, have you ever stopped to look at yourself?"

I sat on the sofa, completely speechless.

By the time I walked out of my mother's building, the sky was nearly pitch black.

She hadn't invited me to stay for dinner.

Before I left, she shoved two hundred dollars into my hand, telling me to use it for now.

Clutching the bills in the stairwell, I dialed Harriet's number.

It rang six or seven times before she picked up.

"Evelyn?" Harriet's voice sounded hesitant.

"Harriet... I was wondering if I could borrow some money, just to get me through the month."

Silence stretched over the line for a few seconds.

"Evelyn, let me be honest with you."

"Richard called my husband two days ago. He said you haven't been mentally stable since the divorce, and asked us not to trigger you."

"He said you believe everyone is out to get you, even Julian."

What a masterclass from Richard.

Before I could even open my mouth, he had already painted the perfect picture of me—a menopausal, hysterical, unstable woman.

"Harriet, you believe him?"

"I... Evelyn, it's not that I believe him, I'm just worried about you. You need to rest. Let's take things slow, okay?"

"As for the money—don't be mad—but Will said things are a bit tight for us right now, too."

I hung up. I didn't say another word.

My next stop was the bank.

I brought my ID to check the savings account my father had set up for me before he passed. It wasn't much—about eighty thousand dollars—kept in a long-term fixed deposit.

The teller searched the system for a long time before looking up.

"Ms. Evelyn, this account was reported lost and replaced last month. The entire balance has been wired out."

"What? Who authorized that?"

"The registration form shows it was authorized by you in person."

"I never filed for a replacement."

The teller looked uncomfortable and showed me the transaction slip.

On the signature line was my name. But the handwriting wasn't mine.

Richard was left-handed and could mimic almost anyone’s signature—it was his favorite parlor trick when he was younger.

He used to perform it in front of me, laughing and saying he learned it in college to sign attendance sheets for his friends.

I had thought it was funny back then.

I stood in the busy bank lobby, clutching the transaction slip.

Eighty thousand dollars.

The very last thing my father had left me.

I sent a Snapchat message to Julian, asking if he knew about this.

He replied instantly: *Evelyn, stop overthinking things. I don't know anything about the bank account. You should ask Richard.*

He added a hugging emoji at the end.

Staring at that smiling yellow face, I felt like it was mocking me.

"Evelyn, you truly have nothing left."

This was the second time I said those words to myself.