“If I could reach the floor that easily, you would know.”

For another second, she stared.

Then she picked up the book and handed it to me.

“Of course.”

That evening, I practiced walking in the bathroom for twenty minutes.

I could manage eight steps while holding the sink and wall.

My right leg was unreliable.

My balance was poor.

I could not walk safely across the house.

But I was no longer the woman Élodie believed I was.

And I began to understand that hiding my recovery was not cowardice.

It was protection.

Meanwhile, Claire continued investigating the house documents.

She discovered that preliminary inquiries had been made regarding a partial transfer of ownership.

Nothing had been finalized.

That was the good news.

The bad news was that someone had clearly been preparing the paperwork as if I had agreed.

The forged signatures were not isolated.

There were several.

Claire called me from a number Thomas did not recognize.

“Madeleine, whoever is doing this has been systematic.”

“Thomas?”

“I can’t prove who signed what yet.”

“But the beneficiary is Thomas.”

“Yes.”

I closed my eyes.

“What should I do?”

“Protect the house. Protect your accounts. And document everything.”

That became my rule.

Document everything.

I photographed papers.

I saved bank correspondence.

I wrote down dates.

I began keeping my phone’s voice recorder running during certain conversations.

At first, I felt ridiculous.

Then one evening, Élodie came into my bedroom and closed the door.

She stood behind my chair.

“Did you contact the bank?”

I kept my face blank.

“Why?”

“A payment Thomas expected didn’t go through.”

“What payment?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

Her reflection appeared in the mirror.

The warmth had vanished from her expression.

“You shouldn’t make financial changes without discussing them with us.”

“My accounts are mine.”

“We manage them for you.”

“You help me.”

“We manage them.”

The correction was deliberate.

I turned the chair slowly.

“Is there a difference?”

She leaned against the dresser.

“You have no idea how much work we do because of you.”

The words struck harder than I expected.

“I never forced you to move here.”

“No. You just needed someone every hour of every day.”

“Then perhaps you should leave.”

For the first time, I saw anger crack through her composure.

It lasted only a second.

Then the smile returned.

“Don’t be dramatic, Mum.”

Mum.

I had once loved hearing it.

Now it sounded like mockery.

That night, I listened to the recording three times.

Not because it proved a crime.

It did not.

But because it proved something to me.

I was not imagining the change in her.

I was not confused.

I was not forgetful.

I was not ungrateful.

I was being controlled.

And once I stopped doubting myself, fear became easier to use.

I began preparing.

Not to run.

Not yet.

To survive long enough to learn exactly what they intended to take from me.

I still believed, then, that the worst thing they wanted was my house.

I had no idea that Élodie had already begun thinking about what stood between her and owning it.

Me.