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I am forty-four, raising my thirteen-year-old daughter, Ava, while going through cancer treatment. My husband, David, passed away when she was two, leaving behind both grief and practical responsibilities I wasn’t ready for. In the days after his funeral, my mother-in-law asked me to sign several documents. I was exhausted, not thinking clearly, and I trusted that what was being presented to me was in order. After that, my in-laws gradually stepped out of our lives. What remained was the work of rebuilding—managing bills, caring for Ava, and later, navigating my diagnosis.
