Inside, the room did not resemble the space where I had once kept extra clothes and family photo albums. A stained mattress lay crooked on the floor. Empty liquor bottles littered the nightstand. The curtains were drawn tight. The closet gaped open like a mouth full of secrets.
On the dresser sat a stack of envelopes. My name was not on a single one.
Every envelope was addressed to Trevor Foster. Loan statements. Credit card bills. Payday lender letters. Overdue notices. Evidence of a financial disaster.
I reached for the top page. My hands trembled as I recognized the payment amounts. One thousand five hundred dollars. Every month. Identical to the transfers I had sent.
The receiving account was not my mother’s. It was Trevor’s.
I flipped through page after page, my vision blurring. Payments to a casino. Payments to a bar. Cash withdrawals at two in the morning for suspiciously large amounts.
A wave of realization crashed over me. I staggered back and braced myself against the wall.
My mother had not used that money for debt relief. She had been funneling every dollar to Trevor. She had been lying every month while I scraped by to save her.