My mother at the ATM.
The confrontation at my parents’ house.
The threats about witnesses.
She listened to all of it without interrupting.
When I finished, she said:
“Trinity, the camera footage, that’s huge.”
“She cannot claim you handed her that card when there’s a video of her walking into your apartment alone and taking it.”
“I know.”
“And she entered your home without your permission to steal from you. That’s not a gray area.”
I told her I didn’t want my mother to go to prison.
I meant it.
I don’t know why, after everything, but I meant it.
Jessica said okay.
She had an idea.
They’d send an official letter first.
Lay out the evidence.
Give my mother 48 hours to respond.
See how she reacted before deciding anything else.
She wrote it fast.
Said they had evidence the card was stolen.
Detailed the camera recording.
And stated clearly that if there was no contact within 48 hours, they were going to the police.
She put her office number at the bottom.
She emailed it.
I printed a copy.
Drove to my parents’ street and dropped it in their mailbox.
Didn’t knock.
Didn’t want to see anyone.
Went home.
Made tea.
Didn’t drink it.
Five hours later, Jessica called me.
“Your mom just called the office,” she said. “She wants a meeting tomorrow morning.”
I put the phone down on the cushion next to me.
Pickle was already asleep on the other side of the couch, one paw over his nose.
Tomorrow, then.
I didn’t sleep great.
Obviously.
Got up early.
Got dressed.
Drove to Jessica’s office.
And they were already there when I walked in.
Mom.