It was the first major thing I had ever owned that no one else could take credit for.
No one helped.
No one co-signed.
No one paid the closing costs.
It was mine.
The month I moved in, I installed a Ring security system. Six cameras, including two inside because I traveled often and lived alone. The footage backed up automatically to the cloud and stayed there for thirty days.
I thought I was protecting myself from strangers.
I never imagined the real threat would walk in with a spare key and call me sweetheart at Christmas.
To understand what happened, you need to understand my mother.
Donna Seward was fifty-nine then, nearly sixty, and she had spent three decades building a reputation at Hillcrest Country Club back in our hometown of Westbrook, Ohio. She chaired charity galas. She organized golf tournaments. She was on the welcoming committee for new members. Her entire identity was wrapped around the image of a perfect family.
