I looked at my daughter, Susan.
“Do you truly believe I’ve lost my mind?”
She finally raised her eyes.
“Mom, you’re seventy-nine years old. Three months ago, you returned from the hospital with a newborn and announced that
she was your daughter. You refuse to tell us who the father is, where the baby came from, or why you’re planning to leave
your entire fortune to her.”
“I haven’t given her my entire fortune.”
“Not yet,” my son Michael said coldly. “But your lawyer has already prepared the documents.”
There was more anger than concern in his voice.
Six months earlier, my children had called me every Sunday. They brought me flowers on my birthday, took pictures with me,
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