“We will state that the money was a gift, supported by your mother’s own messages from the time. We will request dismissal. And then we propose a mutual no-contact agreement.”
I blinked.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that neither party contacts the other in any form,” he said. “Ever.”
The relief that surged through me was sharp and unexpected—a future without constant pressure, without guilt, without surprise visits or accusations from unknown numbers.
“But,” he continued, “your mother may refuse that. People like her often do.”
“Then what?” I asked.
He studied me carefully.
“Then,” he said, “we move forward with a restraining order. Harassment.”
The word felt heavy. Real. A step I never imagined taking, a step that would mark the end of any illusion of family we still pretended to have.
“Will that work?” I whispered.
“With the documentation you have?” he asked. “Yes.”
When I left his office, the weight inside me felt different. Not gone, but contained. Directed.
I wasn’t powerless anymore.
I had someone in my corner.
Outside, the late afternoon sun glowed orange against the mountains. For a moment, the world looked peaceful again.
But the peace didn’t last long.