I’m The Only One Who Looked After My Mom—So Who Took Her From The Nursing Home Without Telling Me?

“Mrs. Joyce? She’s not here anymore. She was discharged last week. A woman picked her up and said you approved it.”

My heart dropped.

“What woman?” I asked, nearly breathless. “I didn’t approve anything. I’m her only daughter.”

The receptionist hesitated. “She said she was your sister. Melissa… or Marlena?”

My stomach turned. “You mean Marla?”

That name hadn’t crossed my lips in six years.

Marla is my half-sister. Same dad, different moms. She’s a whirlwind—charming, chaotic, and never around long enough to clean up the mess she leaves behind. She hadn’t spoken to Mom since their blowout over Dad’s inheritance.

So why now?

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