with Lucy, he asked:
“Nathan… does your wife always look that tired?”
I defended her.
“She’s probably just stressed.”
But Marcus didn’t let it go.
A few days later, he sent me something.
A photograph.
Lucy.
Standing outside a grocery store.
Wearing the same old blouse she had worn in our last video call.
Looking exhausted.
Holding a small bag of medication.
Then he sent another.
My mother.
Driving a brand-new SUV.
Then another.
Brianna.
Outside her newly opened salon.
My stomach dropped.
Because I realized something.
The money wasn’t disappearing.
It was being spent.
Just not on the person I sent it for.
I hired a private investigator.
At first, I only wanted answers.
But what I found was worse than betrayal.
It was a plan.
The investigator discovered that my mother had been telling people Lucy was “unstable.”
She had convinced neighbors that Lucy was irresponsible.
She had
