The Price of Blood and the Cost of Standing Alone Against Family
“I am not dropping the charges, Jason,” I said, my voice firming up. “Your mother attacked me.”
“I know,” he said, taking another step, his hands coming out of his pockets in a pleading gesture. “I know she did. She’s sick, Elizabeth. She’s out of her mind with the stress.”
“That doesn’t excuse it,” I said.
“It’s not just about the assault,” Jason said, his voice cracking. “If the police investigate her, they’re going to look at everything. They’re going to look at the finances.”
“The finances?” I asked.
“She told me it was the only way,” he said, his face twisting with a mix of fear and guilt. “She said you had so much, and you wouldn’t even notice.”
I stared at him, a cold dread starting to bloom in my chest.
“What did she do, Jason?” I asked.
He looked down at his shoes, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
“The financial aid applications for my medical school,” he whispered. “The co-signer forms.”
“I didn’t sign any co-signer forms,” I said.
“I know,” Jason said, looking up at me with absolute terror in his eyes. “She did it for you.”