“I’m not transferring the inheritance early,” I said, keeping my voice even. “The house is sold. The funds are already allocated.”
Renee looked up slowly, her lips curling into a smile that held no warmth at all. For a fleeting second, it reminded me of her childhood grin, the one she used after getting away with something she shouldn’t have, but that memory vanished the moment her eyes hardened.
“You’re making a mistake,” she replied softly, each word sharpened with intention. “You won’t like how this ends.”
Victor exhaled sharply and stepped forward, his shadow stretching across the rug toward me. “Mom, stop pretending this is about responsibility,” he said. “You don’t need that much. You live alone. What are you protecting it for?”
I felt something tighten in my chest, not fear exactly, but recognition. This wasn’t a conversation anymore; it was a demand wrapped in familiarity.
“I’m protecting myself,” I said. “And my future.”
Renee laughed, a thin sound that echoed unpleasantly in the room. “Your future?” she scoffed. “You already had one. You don’t get to lock us out now.”
Victor’s patience snapped in a way I had quietly anticipated but hoped would never arrive. His hand came out fast, not clenched into a fist, but open, forceful, dismissive, and the shove sent me backward before I could brace myself. I remember the sound more than the pain at first—the dull impact as my shoulder hit the edge of the coffee table, the sharp intake of breath that didn’t fully arrive, the way the ceiling seemed to tilt as I slid down onto the rug.
