Chapter 13 - The Lowest Point
The pressure became unbearable when my mother filed a separate petition seeking visitation with Grace.
Her attorney argued that she had been unfairly excluded from a loving family relationship.
Attached were photographs from my pregnancy, carefully cropped to omit the arguments that followed each gathering.
I knew legal standards varied and that filing a petition did not mean she would succeed.
Still, the sight of Grace’s name on their papers frightened me more than any accusation about money.
Rebecca referred me to a family-law specialist, Camille Brooks, who reviewed the history and explained the applicable rules without promising an easy outcome.
We organized the hospital records, court filings, messages, and security footage.
We also kept details of Grace’s ordinary care: pediatric visits, feeding, sleep, and who actually helped us.
I hated that I had to document being a mother for people who had refused to help me become one.
During a sleepless night, a message arrived from an unknown account claiming Daniel had known the transfer scheme for years.
Attached was a fabricated image of him smiling beside Dad at a business event.
I knew the picture was real.
I remembered the day.
But the date of the event was years before the transactions began.
Truth could be rearranged into a lie so easily that I nearly gave up looking.
Then the company’s share price fell after a prominent investor announced it was reviewing its position.
Employees worried about layoffs.
I called the CFO and asked what I could do that would protect operations without interfering in the investigation.
We approved independent financial controls through the board and set up clear communication for staff.
It helped a little.
It did not fix my fear.
On Friday, Olivia called with news from the original accident review.
The service station had overwritten its surveillance footage long ago.
The camera angle needed most was gone.
Another piece of the past had vanished.
I sat in Grace’s nursery, holding Daniel’s letter, and finally said out loud what I had been refusing to think.
“I may never know.”
Helen found me there after I missed lunch.
She sat beside me without insisting I be strong.
“You might not know everything,” she said.
“But you can still know enough to protect yourselves.”
I cried until I was empty.
Then I slept for two hours while she watched Grace.
When I woke, an envelope had been delivered by courier.
It contained no return address.
Inside was a photograph taken at the service station on the day Daniel died.
He stood beside his car, facing a second vehicle.
The license plate of that vehicle was visible.
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On the back, someone had written: ASK YOUR MOTHER WHO WAS DRIVING.
