I returned home for Thanksgiving, eager to embrace the holiday spirit. The house stood silent—save for Victor, my husband’s stepfather, seated in a rocking chair

I said Uncle Victor looked really bad. Brady waved her off impatiently. This is—this is unbelievable.

We need to sit down. Yes, I agreed. We do.

I gestured to the living room where Victor’s letter waited on the coffee table. They filed in silently, nobody wanting to sit in Victor’s rocking chair, which stood empty like an accusation. There are some things you need to know, I said, picking up the cream-colored envelope.

Victor left this letter to be read to you upon your return. Did he change his will? Elaine interjected bluntly. Is that what this is about? I met her eyes directly.

Perhaps you should hear his words first. I unfolded the letter and began reading Victor’s message. His disappointment flowed through my voice.

The holidays spent alone, the doctor’s appointments canceled for convenience, the overheard comments about waiting for the old man to die. As I read I watched their reactions. Elaine’s face hardened defensively.

Brady fidgeted, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Melissa looked increasingly uncomfortable. The greatest pain in life, I read, is not illness or even death, but the realization that those you loved saw you only as an obligation, a task to be managed, an inconvenience to be tolerated.

When I finished, a heavy silence filled the room. Hannah, clearly wishing to be anywhere else, stared at her feet. Finally, Brady cleared his throat.

Look, Dad was confused at the end. His medication. Victor was perfectly lucid, I interrupted.

In fact, he made a video statement you might want to see. This is ridiculous, Elaine declared. Some end-of-life ramblings from a sick old man don’t change the legal realities.

Brady is his next of kin and— Actually, I said standing up, there’s more you should see. I led them to the dining room where I’d arranged the evidence files. Brady’s eyes widened as he took in the meticulous documentation laid out in chronological order.

What is all this, he demanded. Evidence, I replied simply. Of financial exploitation, medical neglect, and abandonment.

I opened the first folder, revealing bank statements with highlighted transfers. Victor kept detailed records of every dollar taken from his accounts for supposed care expenses that were never provided. Elaine snatched up one of the statements.

He gave us that money. We were caring for him. By leaving him alone for Thanksgiving with inadequate medication, no food in the refrigerator, and the heat turned down to 62 degrees? I asked, opening another folder containing the timeline of their departure preparations.

There are statements from six different neighbors who witnessed his neglect. And then there’s this. I pressed play on the tablet and Victor’s video testimony began.

His calm, articulate description of years of mistreatment silenced even Elaine’s protests. Brady’s face grew increasingly pale as Victor described specific incidents. Medications diluted…