Turns out the will was dated a month after Emily’s baby was born. No middle name. No birthdate. Just “Martin.”“You named him that on purpose,” I whispered. “To take the house.”She denied it. But I saw the truth.Later, going through Mom’s things, I found a note in her handwriting. Comparing it to the will, something felt… off. The ink was fresher. Letters leaned differently.

A specialist confirmed it: parts of the will were forged.Emily broke. “She always loved your son more,” she cried. “I was just… there. I named my son Martin because I had to. To have something.”“You forged Mom’s will,” I said. “You betrayed her. And me.”Emily screamed, “Take your damn house! And your damn son’s name!” She slammed the door behind herI sat alone in Mom’s kitchen, tracing the spot her teacup always left.“I’ll fix this,” I whispered. “Somehow, I’ll fix it.”