When I told my mother that I had bought a house, after saving for ten years to achieve it, she grabbed my hair and held a lighter to me.

“Mrs. Miller, we have the IP addresses that prove these transfers were made from your home, and we have the invoices from the wedding planner,” Madeline stated. Celine’s face went pale as she realized that her dream wedding was being funded by a crime that was now being exposed in front of officers.

“I had no idea that the money was being taken without permission, and I simply thought Mom was handling the finances,” Celine whispered while refusing to look me in the eye. The mediator looked at the evidence and then at my mother, whose expression was rapidly shifting from victimhood to a mask of pure, unadulterated venom.

“I cannot believe that my own daughter would record me in my own home just to set a trap for me like a common criminal,” Eleanor screamed. The police officer who was sitting in on the mediation looked at her with a bored expression and noted that a trap is only a trap if someone is doing something wrong.