The court case went much better than expected - once I'd made it clear I was ready to sue the shit out of Mum, she backed down very quickly. I had no real hopes she'd learn her lesson, but as the judge awarded me the maximum amount, I felt as if I'd taken the first real step towards finally losing the last of the shackles Mum had placed around me.
Only, it turned out to not be that easy - Mum immediately filed for bankruptcy, and since that was the one appeal she could make without a half dozen officials jumping down her throat, it was granted, and I saw red when I found out. But I refused to stoop to Mum's level and call her out for bullshit. Instead, I filed a separate motion to give me access to the joint bank account she'd made for me, and had refused to let me access all the years I was living under her roof. The courts granted it, and I soon found Mum wasn't as bankrupt as she'd claimed. Her work as a phone sex operator had yielded her quite a windfall, and since she'd legitimately forgotten to include the joint account in her declaration, I was awarded full access to the funds. I immediately had those funds transferred to the bank account I'd created when I'd moved to Oxford, and the old account was closed, with Mum seemingly none the wiser.
In April, she proved me wrong by attempting to bring a lawsuit against me for accessing an account I had "no legal right to." I hit her where it hurt, producing enough evidence for the original bankruptcy judgement to be overturned, and Mum was subsequently forced to come clean. It didn't take long before I recieved the original sum I was meant to have, and I donated a good portion of it to various child and sexual abuse victims' groups. I could have made the donations in Mum's name, but I wasn't quite as spiteful as that. The rest I squirelled away for a rainy day - I had more than enough to keep me comfortable, and I already had plans to move once I'd graduated at the end of August. I'd been offered a starting position on a reputable marine life magazine, and since I'd received all the certifications I needed to become a freediver, I felt myself more than ready to take on the role. It wasn't glamorous, but it was a foot in the door.
And now that Mum had finally learned her lesson, I felt much more comfortable in the water than I had a few months ago. To be absolutely sure of that freedom, however, I filed a motion requesting that I no longer be informed of Mum's doings. I'd suffered enough anxiety in January to last me a lifetime, and I didin't fancy going through the wringer again. The only time I wanted to know about her was when she was dead - not because I was a callous person, but simply because I wanted to be sure she'd never trouble me again this side of the hereafter. Happily, the court was more than willing to grant that request, and when I left the courthouse that afternoon, I started to feel a little of my old confidence come back. It was going to take a few heavy-duty therapy sessions to get me back up to speed, but I already felt like a huge load had been taken off my shoulders.
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In May, Mum's tale concluded when she was found dead in her jail cell. No one had had a clue as to how she managed to strangle herself when she wasn't allowed anything by which she could do so, and in the end, her death was deemed an accident. I was more sad than I realised, but my therapist told me I was grieving the mother I'd wanted, rather than the one I'd gotten, and it was perfectly normal to grieve a relationship that had never been.
I did refuse to go to the funeral, partly because Dad would be granted day release to say goodbye, but also party because I didn't want to waste any more time on her. So I spent the day of her funeral freediving off the coast of Brighton, letting my cares vanish in the clear water. I brought my waterproof camera with me to take a few practice shots, losing myself in the beauty I found all around me. Everything was blue, bubbly and colourful, and the underwater solitude was a balm to my sore heart. It was, in short, all I could ever have asked for.
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