My Mother Left Me Her House, but Only If I Let My Brother Move in – on Christmas Morning, Everything Finally Made Sense

I sat on the couch and opened it.

I took a shaky breath.

“And I know Quentin still hasn’t told you the truth.”

My eyes flicked up.

Quentin stood in the doorway now, arms crossed, jaw tight.

I looked back at the letter.

“By the time you read this, he will finally be allowed to. But I am almost certain he will be too afraid. Too afraid to lose you.”

My hands trembled.

“So I decided to help him.

I suppose this is my last act as a mother. I am already dead when you read this, so nothing bad can happen to me now.”

I could hear her voice in the words. Calm.

Practical. Just a little bit wry.

I felt the floor tilt.

“He was working undercover.”

The words didn’t make sense at first.

Then they did.

“For years, Quentin was part of an operation to dismantle a drug trafficking network. To survive, he had to look like one of them.

Act like one of them. Lose people who loved him, including you.”

My vision blurred.

“It broke him not to tell you. But he was protecting you.

And his child. And thousands of others.”

Children.

Plural.

“The operation is closed now. He is free.

He can finally live an honest life.”

The next lines felt like a plea.

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