I Was Still Away Recovering When My Children Talked About Their “Early Plans” And Selling Everything From The TV To The Beach House. But The Shock Came When The Notary’s Office Called To Inform Them: “The Property Has An Owner – And It’s Not ANYONE IN THE FAMILY.”

“We’re just discussing some practical matters. Mom was never good with finances or planning. Dad always handled everything.”

The lie slid so easily from his lips.

Richard had been the dreamer, the big-picture thinker. I had been the practical one—managing our household budget through lean times, making one dollar stretch into two. “I understand,” the nurse said, though her tone suggested she didn’t.

“Just remember, recovery can be unpredictable. Many patients regain more function than initially expected.”

“Of course,” Daniel replied, not quite hiding his disappointment. “We’re just being prepared.

Mom would want that.”

No. What I wanted was for my children to remember who I was. Not just Richard’s wife or their mother, but Victoria Sullivan—a woman who had made her own quiet marks on the world.

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