I collapsed to my knees during an asthma attack, fighting for air while my younger sister held my inhaler just out of reach. She smirked and said, “Gasp, loser.” My parents stood by and did nothing. Today, in court, when the judge said, “Before we begin, let’s watch a family video,” she started shaking—and then screaming.

She wrote about trying to visit me once and being told I “didn’t want contact.”

Reading her handwriting—soft, looping, worried—was the one time I broke.

I cried in a way I hadn’t cried even in the courtroom, because Grandma had been the one person who made me feel seen, and my family had stolen even that from me.

In the end, the estate judge ruled that my grandmother’s distribution of assets had been influenced by deception—lies fed to her by my mother and Camille. Camille, who had absorbed the lion’s share, was ordered to return $180,000 in assets. Not a fortune, but enough to unravel the careful image she’d built.

Her husband filed for separation within weeks.

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