That night, I sat on my mother’s couch with papers scattered on the coffee table and almost decided to abandon everything.

—What are you going to do, darling? —she asked.

“I don’t know, mom. He has money. I have nothing.”

“You have the truth.”

The next morning, I drove to the nursing home. Margaret was sitting in the solarium, knitting something blue and uneven.

—Jeremy —said, patting the chair next to him—. I was wondering when you were coming.

“He’s suing me, Margaret. Tim. She says I cheated on her.”

He left knitting on the table.

“In her last week, Rosie told me about you every day. The boy who decided to stay called you. Those were his words.”

—Would you say that in court? —I asked for.

“I’ll say it wherever they leave me.”

That night, I called a legal aid attorney named Denise, an exhausted woman who was still answering the phone at nine at night. I collected everything I could: visitation records, receipts for flowers and chocolates, statements from three nurses and an assistant.

Denise went over everything at her kitchen table.

“Jeremy, I’ll take care of it. But I want you to be prepared. They’re going to call you a predator on the stand. They are going to bring up the issue of money. Every dollar.”

“I know.”

“And tomorrow you will have an agreement offer. I already sense it.”

He arrived at noon. Tim’s lawyer sent a single line via email.

“Leave right now, or we will take away everything you have and everything you will have in the future.”

I read it twice. Then I closed my laptop and thought of Rosie’s hand closing around mine.

The probate courtroom was smaller than I had imagined. Tim was sitting across the hall, in a fancy suit, while his lawyer whispered something in his ear.

As Tim took the stand, his voice trembled with well-rehearsed sadness.

“He took advantage of my mother. He saw a sick woman and took advantage of her.”

My lawyer slowly stood up and handed a folder to the judge.

“Your Honor, these are bank records showing weekly transfers of $500 from Mr. Tim to my client over several months. We have also submitted text messages confirming that my client was hired to visit Mr. Tim’s mother posing as him.”

For the first time that morning, Tim felt cornered.

Denise turned to look at him.

“Mr. Tim, do you deny making these payments?”

Tim stared at the papers for several seconds.v