Chapter 3: The Woman Before Me
Denise met us in a quiet coffee shop three days later.
She looked nervous.
The kind of nervous that comes from carrying a secret too heavy for too long.
She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup.
“I should have called sooner.””
Brian leaned forward.
“Tell us everything.””
Denise looked at me.
“I’m sorry.””
Those two words nearly broke me.
Because I realized how many people had seen something wrong and felt helpless.
“I worked with Latoya at a marketing company,” Denise said.
“What does that have to do with my mother?”” Brian asked.
“She learned how to make people look bad online.””
I frowned.
“She did videos?””
Denise nodded.
“Not just videos.””
She opened her phone.
“She created stories.””
The screen showed old posts.
Different names.
Different faces.
Different victims.
“She would pick someone,” Denise said.
“Usually someone older. Someone who trusted her.””
Brian’s expression darkened.
“Why?””
“Attention. Money. Sympathy.””
I looked at the photos.
People crying.
People embarrassed.
People being laughed at.
“How did nobody stop her?””
Denise looked away.
“Because she was good at making herself the victim.””
That sounded familiar.
Very familiar.
The first month after I moved in, Latoya cried to Brian about me.
“She hates me.””
“She thinks I’m not good enough.””
“She wants to control our marriage.””
Brian had defended her.
Because he loved her.
And because I never told him the truth.
I didn’t want to ruin his happiness.
That was another mistake.
That evening, Brian drove me to a temporary apartment.
A small place.
One bedroom.
Quiet.
Safe.
I stood in the doorway.
A place where nobody could lock me down.
A place where nobody could film me.
Brian hugged me.
“I’m sorry.””
I closed my eyes.
“You keep saying that.””
“Because it’s true.””
I looked at him.
“Then do something with that guilt.””
He nodded.
“I will.””
The next morning, we met with an attorney.
She reviewed everything.
The videos.
The documents.
The financial records.
Then she said something that made my hands go cold.
“Mrs. Carter, your daughter-in-law didn’t just abuse you.””
“What else?””
“She transferred money from your account.””
Brian went still.
“How much?””
The attorney looked at the file.
“Nearly fifty thousand dollars.””
I stared at the table.
Fifty thousand.
Money my husband and I saved.
Money meant for my future.
Money meant for emergencies.
Brian whispered:
“She stole from you.””
The attorney nodded.
“And there is more.””
She placed another document down.
A property record.
I recognized the address.
My house.
The one my husband built with his own hands.
The one where Brian took his first steps.
The one where I buried my husband’s favorite rose bush after he died.
“What about my house?””
The attorney looked at me carefully.
“Latoya attempted to transfer ownership.””
My heart stopped.
“Attempted?””
“Yes.””
Brian grabbed the paper.
“Why didn’t it go through?””
The attorney looked between us.
“Because someone stopped it.””
“Who?””
She turned another page.
And there was a signature.
May you like
A signature that made Brian stand so quickly his chair fell backward.
Because the person who blocked Latoya’s plan was someone we never expected.
