He arrived in less than an hour.
Worried.
Breathless.
“Ammi, what happened?”
I looked at him.
And for the first time—
I didn’t see my son.
I saw a man who learned how to take.
“How much do you need?” I asked softly.
He frowned.
“What?”
“You’ve already been taking it,” I said, holding the papers.
Silence.
Then panic.
“I was going to tell you—”
“That you abandoned me and emptied my account?” I asked calmly.
He snapped.
“I have responsibilities! You don’t understand!”
“I understand perfectly,” I said.
Then I handed him another paper.
A legal document.
His face went pale.
“You… transferred everything?”
I nodded.
“To a trust.”
“For people who were actually abandoned.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I already did.”
He turned, furious.
“Fine. Stay here. See if I care.”
“Beta,” I said quietly.
He stopped.
“You should check your accounts.”
He looked back slowly.
“The bank knows,” I said.
“You used my thumbprint.”
Silence.
Cold.
Final.
“That’s fraud.”
His face lost all color.
“And tomorrow,” I added, “the police will want to talk to you.”
For the first time—
he looked afraid.
“Ammi…”
But I was done.
“You can go now.”
And this time—
I didn’t watch him leave.
Because I wasn’t waiting anymore.