When my mom, at 45, told me she had found love again, I wanted to be happy for her. She deserved it — years of raising me alone had left her with little time for herself. But when she introduced Aaron, a 25-year-old with easy charm and a bright smile, something inside me hesitated. I told myself I was being protective, but deep down, I was afraid — afraid she might be hurt, or worse, taken advantage of. Determined to keep her safe, I masked my unease with politeness, all while quietly watching for warning signs.
Aaron seemed almost too good to be true: kind, hardworking, attentive. And yet, the age gap, the timing, and his polished manner kept my suspicions alive. One afternoon, while helping Mom organize paperwork for the wedding, I noticed a locked folder among her files. Curiosity got the better of me. Inside, I found documents showing large debts under Aaron’s name — and a property deed registered to my mother. My heart pounded. To me, it looked like confirmation of everything I feared.