“Did she know it belonged to me?”
Grant hesitated.
That hesitation told me.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“At least a year.”
My stomach turned.
My mother had known.
She had known the land survived.
She had known it was mine.
And still, when I got out of prison, she said nothing.
She let me sleep behind a church.
She let me wander through town.
She let me believe I had no place.
Then she arrived only after I discovered it myself.
That was the day I stopped waiting for her apology.
I asked Grant to leave.
Then I called Maya.
We documented everything.
My mother had no legal authority.
But she had apparently tried to represent herself as someone capable of selling.
Nothing had been signed.
No crime we could easily prove.
But it changed my understanding.
This was not forgetfulness.
It was intention.
A month after release, I finally saw Lily.
