After four years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit, I finally came home. But my key didn’t work. The woman who opened the door was a frail, terrified stranger. It turned out my fiancée had sold my house to her scumbag son, who then used it to dump his own mother after stealing her fortune. We were two abandoned souls, and we became a family. Then, on her deathbed, she gave me one final, mysterious mission…

Her health was failing. Her knee was shot, and the stress was taking its toll. The local doctor just shrugged. “It’s old age,” he said. “There’s no medicine for that.” I felt a familiar, helpless rage build inside me. The world had chewed this good woman up and was about to spit her out, and there was nothing I could do.

Then, one day, a beat-up car pulled up. It was Alex. My hands clenched into fists. He didn’t even knock, just strode in like he owned the place, which I guess he thought he did.

“Mom,” he said, not even looking at her. Then his eyes fell on me. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the guy whose house you stole,” I said, stepping between him and Agnes.

“Whatever,” he sneered. “I came to talk to my mother.” It turned out he wasn’t there to check on her. He was there to ask for more money.