Ivana and Elliott walked in guarded, braced for another lecture about accepting their stepmother.

Instead they found me at the dining table with a thick binder — the photographs Anouk had taken, the bank records, the drafted competency papers.

I offered no excuses.

I laid the whole truth in front of them.

As Elliott read the offshore transfers, his jaw set hard.

When Ivana saw the photographs of the hidden vials and the dementia papers with my name already on them, she burst into tears and threw her arms around my neck.