When I was 16, my grandma passed away. She was a tough, hardworking woman who ran her own upholstery business for 50 years and raised five kids. My mom was the middle child, and they always seemed to clash. I think it boiled down to my mom’s sense of entitlement—she always wanted more than she earned or deserved, and my grandma wasn’t one to indulge that attitude.

With five kids and ten grandkids, my grandma made sure her will reflected what she believed would benefit each of us the most. Knowing I wanted to go to college, she set up an education trust for me, worth around $30,000. My brother, who was in a band and needed a touring vehicle, inherited her old delivery van from the business. My mom, who had an obsession with jewelry, received some heirloom pieces. With 15 people to consider, my grandma tried to be fair.

But fairness was not how my mom saw it. She was livid, claiming that my trust fund was worth so much more than the van and jewelry she received. She couldn’t accept that this was how my grandma had chosen to divide her assets.

Fast forward to my second semester of college. I was 18, having received scholarships that covered my tuition, and I was excited to start using my trust fund for books and other expenses. I asked my mom how to access the trust now that I was of age. That’s when she dropped the bombshell: the trust was empty.

It turned out my mom had been draining the account, claiming she was using the money for my “education expenses.” Since she was a college professor, I had taken some classes at her school during high school, paying only $25 per credit hour thanks to her faculty discount. But my mom had withdrawn funds from the trust based on the full, non-discounted tuition amounts. Then, for my first semester in college, she did the same—taking out the money before scholarships were applied, completely depleting the account.

I was shocked and demanded my money back. My mom unapologetically told me she had “used it to benefit the whole family” by purchasing a plot of land in a prime area of the city. She planned to use the land as collateral to build her dream house, which she somehow thought would benefit me.

At 18, I had no money to take legal action against my mom, so I was left devastated. I made the decision to never return home from school, finding a job and an apartment instead. I cut off almost all contact with her, only speaking occasionally during holidays.

Five years later, at Christmas, my mom had finally built her dream house. This was at the peak of the housing boom, and the house was appraised at a whopping $700,000. She bragged endlessly about her financial success, which made my blood boil. But just a few months later, her world came crashing down.

It turned out that my mom had never paid taxes on the money she took from my trust or on the property taxes for the land and house. The county sent her a notice demanding payment of over $100,000 in back taxes and penalties. She didn’t have that kind of money lying around and tried to blame everyone but herself. My mom claimed it was the bank’s fault because they didn’t take out property taxes with her monthly payments, as they had with previous mortgages. But this wasn’t a mortgage—it was a construction loan, and she was responsible for paying her own taxes. The documents made this clear, but she hadn’t bothered to read them.

She dragged out the legal battle, hoping to find a way out, and even requested a reassessment of the house’s value. But the housing market crashed, and her once overvalued $700,000 house was now worth only $220,000. She thought this would lower her tax debt, but the taxes were based on the original value, so she was still on the hook for the full amount. Reality finally hit her: she had to sell the dream house to pay off the debt. She sold it for $220,000, but still owed $150,000 on the construction loan and $100,000 in taxes. With nothing left, she declared bankruptcy and moved into an apartment, spending the next few years paying off her debts, including credit card debt and other liabilities.

Now, she’s retired with no savings, living in boredom and loneliness, still blaming everyone else for her mistakes. I refuse to visit her, but I’ll take her calls occasionally. I managed to finish school, get a good job, and buy my own house—a house I actually pay taxes on. While I’ll never forgive her for what she did, I take some satisfaction in knowing she paid a huge price for stealing from her own child.