I didn’t understand. But I was eighteen, and I’d been trained my whole life not to question him. So I nodded, signed the loan papers, and spent the next decade wondering why I was the only Foster child who had to pay for her own education.
I never saw the will. I never asked for documentation. I never pushed.
Because in the Foster family, you don’t question Richard. You don’t ask for receipts. You accept what he tells you, and you’re grateful for it.
It wasn’t until eight years later, three months before my wedding, that I finally learned the truth about where that $47,000 actually went.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
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