Instead, I scheduled a consultation with a consumer protection attorney. She reviewed my documents and looked up at me carefully.
“If you move forward with fraud charges,” she said, “it may implicate someone close to you.”
I stared at the stack of statements. “I’m done protecting him.”
Mom asked to meet for coffee a few days later. She looked smaller somehow, her hands wrapped tightly around her mug.
“He’s scared,” she whispered. “You know how he is.”
“I’m stopping the bleeding,” I replied.
I slid a copy of my attorney’s demand letter across the table. It requested reimbursement for the business charges and formally documented the fraudulent accounts.
“If you do this, he could be arrested,” she said.
“He made that choice when he used my name,” I answered.
Weeks passed. The investigation moved forward. Some accounts were removed from my credit report. Others were still under review. Dad stopped texting. Mom’s messages grew shorter. Maddie didn’t message at all.
I signed a lease on a small one-bedroom apartment across town. It wasn’t fancy—just brick walls, secondhand furniture, and quiet. I hung my diploma above my desk.
For the first time, it felt like it meant something.