Blake didn’t accept the changes easily. He accused me of punishing them by stopping the money, but Corinne finally stood up to him. She reminded him that his own mother had been discussing selling my home while I was still living in it. Blake and Corinne entered counseling, and he took a second job to cover the rent I’d previously paid. Eventually, he came to my house and apologized face-to-face. It was awkward, but genuine. Odette mailed me a stiff Christmas card. I replied with one written entirely in Italian. She never answered.

By spring, Corinne and I had rebuilt enough trust to travel to Florence together. I showed her the tiny apartment above a bakery where I’d lived at twenty-five. On our final evening, we ate dinner beside the river. Corinne lifted her glass and spoke in careful, terrible Italian she’d secretly practiced for weeks. “You were always the mother I needed. I just didn’t see it.” I laughed until tears filled my eyes. “And you’re the daughter I always wanted,” I told her. Cutting off the money hadn’t cost me my daughter. It finally gave us the chance to find each other again.