He said if I really loved him, I wouldn’t drag my family into my illness.

He told me isolation was maturity.”

I closed my eyes, a physical nausea washing over me. There it was. The classic playbook of an abuser. Convince a sick, vulnerable woman that asking for her mother’s love is selfish.

Convince her that being easy to discard is a virtue.

“Sarah, listen to me,” I said, leaning in so she could focus solely on my eyes. “He lied to you. About everything. About me. About what love actually costs.”

She nodded weakly. “I know that now. I just realized it too late. He took everything, Mom. I have nothing left to give.”

“It is not too late,” I said, pulling the freshly printed legal documents from my folder. “I need your help, baby. We’re going to change exactly what he thinks he gets to walk away with.”

I explained the new will. I told her about the $500,000 life insurance policy Greg was waiting to collect. Then I told her about the idea David and I had quickly formed on the phone.