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.

I straightened my blazer and gripped my folder of documents without saying another word because I knew that any further conversation would only lead to more violence. Two weeks later, I was standing in my new living room in Naples, surrounded by white walls and a silence that felt like the greatest luxury I had ever known.

The peace was shattered on a Tuesday evening when a patrol car pulled into my driveway and two stern-looking officers walked up to my front door. “Are you Audrey Miller?” the lead officer asked while keeping his expression completely neutral and professional.

“Yes, that is me, so may I ask what this is about?” I replied while my heart began to hammer against my ribs in a rhythm of pure dread. “You will need to come down to the station with us because your mother has filed a formal report accusing you of stealing a large sum of family inheritance money,” he explained.