“Mother!” Gerald’s voice came through, firm and commanding, sending a chill through me. “I have two things to say. First, Sam accidentally sent me your new will… and second, I need you to start packing your things right now.”

My hands shook as I carefully placed the teacup on the table. “Gerald… is this about the will? Please, just let me explain—”

I don’t need your explanations, Mother,” Gerald interrupted coldly. “Just have your bags ready by 4 p.m.” Then the line went dead.

I sat frozen, my heart pounding as if the air had thickened around me. Gerald—my youngest, my sweetest boy—the one who had always been so patient and kind. When my arthritis worsened, he had opened his home to me without hesitation. Never once did he make me feel like a burden. And now… this.

Tears stung my eyes as I rose from the chair. I knew why he was angry—he must’ve seen my will. I had left my home and savings to Amy and Oliver. Gerald was already comfortable, successful. I thought he’d understand. Clearly, I was wrong.

With trembling hands, I began folding clothes into my suitcase. The weight of guilt pressed against my chest. Maybe I’d misjudged him… maybe he’d felt overlooked. “Mrs. Nezbit?” came the soft voice of our housekeeper. “Do you need help?”

I nodded weakly. “Yes, dear. Please.” Together we carried my things downstairs, each step heavier than the last.

At exactly four o’clock, Gerald arrived—punctual, composed, distant. “Please, Gerald, let me explain—”

“I don’t have time for explanations, Mother. Come along.” His tone left no space for argument. He took my bag, loaded it into the car, and started driving. I sat quietly, watching his face in profile, searching for some flicker of affection.

“Where are we going, Gerald?” I asked softly. He turned up the radio, ignoring me. Anxiety coiled in my stomach as unfamiliar streets passed by.

Finally, I tried again. “About the will, Gerald…”

“Oh yes, the will,” he said sharply, his voice tinged with bitterness. “The one where Amy and Oliver inherit the house and the $120,000 in savings—while I get the old lake cabin, Grandfather’s war photos, and Dad’s watch?”

Before I could respond, he slowed the car to a stop. Confused, I looked out the window—and gasped. We were at a private airstrip. A sleek jet gleamed under the afternoon sun.

Gerald turned toward me then, his expression softening for the first time. To my astonishment, tears glimmered in his eyes…