‘What secrets are you hiding, Mum?’ – I muttered, carefully untangling the frayed rope. My stomach clenched at what I saw inside.
There were letters, dozens of letters, each with my mum’s name written in my grandmother’s special handwriting. The paper was yellowed at the edges, some were crinkled from frequent handling.
The first letter was dated three years ago. The paper was fresh, as if it had been read many times:
‘Victoria,
I know what you did.
Did you think I wouldn’t notice the money was missing? That I wouldn’t check my accounts? Month after month I’ve seen small amounts disappear. At first I thought it was a mistake. That my own daughter wouldn’t steal from me. But we both know the truth, don’t we?
Your gambling has got to stop. You’re destroying yourself and this family. I’ve tried to help you, to understand, but you keep getting in my face, taking more and more. Remember last Christmas when you swore you’d changed? When you cried and promised you’d get help? And then a week later, $5000 was missing again.
I’m not writing to judge you. I’m writing because it pains me to watch you fall.
Please, Victoria. Let me help you…really help you this time.
Mum.’
My hands shook as I read letter after letter. Each one revealed more history I didn’t know, painting a picture of betrayal that made my stomach twist.
The dates spanned several years, the tone of the letters changing from concern to anger and then to humility.
One letter mentioned a family dinner when Mum swore she wouldn’t gamble again.
I remembered that night – she looked so sincere, tears streaming down her face as she hugged her grandmother. Now I wondered if those tears were real or if it was just another game.
The last letter from my grandmother made me freeze:
‘Victoria,
‘You made your choice. I’ve made mine. Everything I have will go to Esmerald, the only person who has shown me true love rather than using me as a personal bank. You may think you got away with it, but believe me, you didn’t. The truth always comes out.
Remember when Esmerald was little and you accused me of playing favourites? You said I loved her more than you. The truth is, I loved you both in different ways, but equally. The difference was that she loved me back unconditionally, expecting nothing in return.
I still love you. I always will. But I can’t trust you.
Mum.’
My hands shook as I unfolded the last letter. It was from my mum to my grandmother, dated just two days ago, after my grandmother had died. The handwriting was harsh, angry:
‘Mum,
Okay. You win. I confess. I took the money. I needed it. You never understood what it was like to feel that adrenaline, that need. But guess what? Your clever little plan isn’t gonna work. Esmereld adores me. She’ll give me anything I ask for. Including her inheritance. Because she loves me. So in the end, I won anyway.
Maybe now you can stop trying to control everyone from the grave. Goodbye.
Victoria.’
That night passed without sleep. I paced around the flat, memories shifting and re-forming, with a new understanding of reality.
Christmas presents that always seemed too expensive. The times my mum would ask to ‘poke around’ on my credit card for ‘emergencies’. All those conversations about Grandma’s finances disguised as a daughter’s concern.
‘Have you talked to Mum about notary power of attorney?’ – she once asked. ‘You know how she forgets.’
‘She seems fine to me,’ I replied.
‘Just thinking about the future, honey. We need to protect her property.’
My mother, driven by greed, had betrayed my grandmother and now me.
By morning, my eyes were burning, but my mind was clear. I called her, keeping my voice steady:
‘Mum, can we meet for coffee? I have something important for you.’
‘What is it, dear?’ Her voice poured with a honeyed tinge. ‘Are you okay? You sound tired.’
‘I’m fine. It’s about Grandma. She left you a parcel. Said I should give it to her when the time was right.’
‘Oh! Sounds like something I’m looking forward to.’