“The house is yours. He can’t touch it. But there’s more. Look in the box.”

Inside the small wooden box from my childhood were photos, my old letters, her locket—and a USB drive.

Donald tried to look, but the lawyer cut him off. “Everything in that envelope belongs to Stacey.”

That night, I plugged in the USB.

Mom appeared on the screen—frail but determined in her hospital bed.

“Hi, sweetheart. If you’re watching this, you know the truth. I’m sorry he kept you away. I thought of you every single day. I loved you every single moment.”

She told me she was proud of me, that she wished we’d had the chance to say goodbye, and that no one could erase our bond. “Love finds a way, baby girl. It always finds a way.”

Tears blurred my vision as the video ended. I cried until sleep came, but even through the grief, I felt her love like a warm blanket.

She was gone, yet she’d found a way to hold my hand from beyond the veil.

Now, in the house she gave me, I never feel alone.

I feel her.

Everywhere.

I love you, Mom.