I showed up to Christmas dinner on a cast, still limping from when my daughter-in-law had shoved me days earlier. My son just laughed and said, “She taught you a lesson—you had it coming.” Then the doorbell rang. I smiled, opened it, and said, “Come in, officer.”

Changing the Will and Tightening the Net

I met with Dr. Arnold Turner, my lawyer. Quietly, we rewrote my will:

The bakeries and half my money would go to a charity for underprivileged children.

The house and remaining money would go to my hardworking nephew, Ryan.

Jeffrey would receive only $100,000—enough that he couldn’t claim I’d forgotten him, but little enough to show my disgust.

We also drafted medical directives making my best friend Sarah the person in charge of my healthcare, not Jeffrey.

Back home, I continued the act. I tested them by casually mentioning I might sell one bakery. They panicked. When I said I’d scheduled a legal review of my will, they practically shook. That night I overheard them arguing in their room about speeding up the guardianship process.

Melanie suggested “creating evidence” of my decline—maybe slipping medication into my food to cause confusion, staging small accidents to make me look helpless.

For the first time, I was genuinely afraid for my life.

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