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.”

I needed more strength. More time to formulate my response. But time was running out for the beach house, for the promise I had made years ago that my children knew nothing about.

The next morning, when my physical therapist asked me to try speaking again, I focused every ounce of my will on forming one critical sentence. “I need to make a call.”

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Will she recover in time to stop her children’s betrayal? The journey has just begun. “I need to make a call.”

The physical therapist, Jenny, paused mid-stretch of my arm, surprise flickering across her face.

These were my first coherent words since the emergency. “Mrs. Sullivan, that’s wonderful progress,” she said warmly.

“Who would you like to call?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry from disuse. “My lawyer.”

Jenny’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Your lawyer?

Not your children?”

I managed a small, deliberate shake of my head. “Lawyer. Important.”

“I understand.”

Something in her expression told me she did.

Perhaps she’d overheard my children’s conversations, too. “Let me check with Dr. Patel about phone use, and we’ll make it happen.”

Two hours later, after Dr.

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