It was the sudden, shocking realization that the world was finally seeing Margaret for who she really was.

“Look at this,” Richard said, holding up his tablet.

He showed me an email from a major donor network based in New York.

“The Vanguard Group just released a statement,” Richard said. “They are suspending their annual five-million-dollar grant to the Whitmore Foundation until the legal issues are resolved.”

“And here is another,” Nora said, reading from her laptop. “The Yale New Haven Health Board has tabled the discussion regarding the new wing Margaret was funding. They are distancing themselves.”

The phone on Nora’s desk began to ring repeatedly.

“Those will be the journalists,” Nora said, ignoring the flashing red light. “Let them call. The court order speaks for itself.”

I sat down on the sofa, burying my face in my hands.

The relief was so intense it felt like a physical weight leaving my chest.

For two years, I had been forced to beg Margaret for money to buy groceries, to pay for Lily’s asthma medication, to keep a roof over our heads.