My Mother Handed Me A Document And Said « It’s Just Business »—Then Left The Room

nahoko

It was a Tuesday afternoon when my mother handed me the document, her fingers brushing against mine for a brief moment. We were in the study, a room usually reserved for quiet reading and contemplation, not for unveiling family secrets. The document was thick, bound with a simple clip, and my name was printed in bold letters at the top.

« It’s just business, » she said, her voice steady and her expression unreadable, before she turned and left the room, leaving me alone with the paper that seemed to hold more weight than the sum of its parts. I glanced at the date: 03/15/2023. It felt ominous, like a ticking clock counting down to something I couldn’t yet comprehend.

I sat down at the desk, the leather chair creaking slightly under my weight. The afternoon light filtered in through the Venetian blinds, casting stripes across the document. I ran my fingers over the pages, feeling the slight texture of the paper beneath my touch. The header read « Amendment to Living Trust, » and I knew instantly that this wasn’t just any document.

My mind raced with questions. Why now? Why this change? I could feel the knot in my stomach tighten as I flipped through the pages, scanning for any familiar terms. But it was all legal jargon, words that twisted and turned, evading simple interpretation.

The silence in the room was palpable, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my head. I reached for my phone, hesitating before typing a message to my brother. « Did you know about this? » I wrote, pausing before hitting send. What if he was part of this? What if he knew more than I did?

But I needed answers. I needed to understand what my mother had set in motion with those simple words: « It’s just business. »

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