I came back from my sister’s funeral. My daughter was laughing in my room, trying to steal my house with fake medical papers. I took her red-handed.
Không có mô tả ảnh.
I came home from my sister’s funeral exhausted, in a way that had nothing to do with my body. Grief has a weight of its own. From the outside, the house was silent: the same white porch, the same oak tree in the garden where my children used to play. I opened the door, put down my bag and took off my black coat.

Then I heard laughter.

It came from above. From my room.

At first, I thought I was dreaming. My daughter, Amanda, was supposed to be at work. She had insisted that she could not attend the funeral because of an « important meeting ». I believed her. I always believed her.

I climbed the stairs slowly, my heart pounding with each step. The door to my room was ajar. Inside, Amanda was sitting on my bed, surrounded by papers strewn across my dresser and bedside table. She was on the phone and laughing.

« No, it’s done, » she says casually. « As soon as the doctor signs the certificate, the house will legally be mine. She won’t even understand what happened. »

I froze.

She hadn’t seen me yet.

On my dresser were documents I’d never seen before: medical evaluations, letters on hospital letterhead, copies of my ID card. At the top of the pile was a form entitled « Declaration of Mental Incapacity ».

Amanda hung up and turned around.

For a split second, her smile disappeared.

« Mom? » she said, getting up too quickly. « You came home early. »

I picked up one of the papers with a trembling hand. « What is it? »

She glanced at the documents, then at me. His expression changed, not to express guilt, but to express calculation.

« It’s just paperwork, » she says lightly. « You don’t have to worry. »

« Papers that declare that I am mentally incapacitated? » My voice broke. « Papers that put my house in your name? »

She sighed, annoyed. « You’re emotional. Aunt Linda has just died. That’s precisely why we have to take care of things now. »

The play turned on itself.

I then understood that it was not impulsive. It wasn’t confusion. It was planned.

I took another document and recognized the signature at the bottom. A doctor I had never met. A falsified medical certificate. My name was in a handwriting that was not mine.

« You were the one who falsified this, » I whispered.

Amanda crossed her arms. « I did what I had to do. »

Something in me hardened.