Chapter 2
The ambulance arrived eleven minutes after my mother hit the floor.
Those eleven minutes were the longest of my life.
Mom lay on her side, pale and trembling.
Noah cried against Angela's shoulder.
And Vanessa kept insisting that everything had been an accident.
"Marcus, you know your mother's balance isn't good."
I didn't answer.
"She shouldn't have been standing without her cane."
I stared at her.
"The cane was beside her."
Vanessa looked away.
Then she whispered, "You're making me sound like a monster."
I felt anger rise inside me.
But the paramedics were entering.
My mother needed me.
I knelt beside her while they assessed her condition.
"Mom, I'm coming with you."
She squeezed my fingers.
"Don't leave Noah frightened."
I looked toward my son.
His little face was wet.
He was still staring at Vanessa.
I called Angela closer.
"Please take Noah home with you."
She nodded immediately.
"Of course."
Then I leaned toward him.
"Buddy, Grandma is getting help."
He clung to me.
"Daddy, I told the truth."
My throat tightened.
"I know."
His voice broke.
"Vanessa said nobody would believe me."
I froze.
"What?"
He looked frightened.
Angela gently touched his shoulder.
"Sweetheart, come with me."
I kissed his forehead.
"We'll talk soon."
As the paramedics lifted Mom onto the stretcher, Vanessa approached.
"I'll follow you to the hospital."
I turned.
"No."
She looked stunned.
"Marcus?"
"I need you to stay away from my mother right now."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You're choosing her over me?"
I stared at her.
"My mother is injured."
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"You'll regret treating me this way."
I didn't respond.
I followed the stretcher outside.
At the hospital, doctors ordered imaging.
They confirmed a fracture near Mom's previously operated hip.
She would need surgery.
I sat in the hallway staring at the floor.
The birthday cake was probably still sitting on our dining table.
The candles had been extinguished.
The decorations were still hanging.
And my mother was facing another operation because someone had pushed her.
I covered my face.
"Please be okay, Mom."
Two hours later, Angela arrived.
Noah was staying with her husband.
She sat beside me.
"How is she?"
I swallowed.
"Fractured hip."
Angela closed her eyes.
"Oh, God."
I nodded.
She reached for my hand.
"Marcus, we need to talk."
Something about her tone frightened me.
"What happened?"
She looked toward the hospital corridor.
Then lowered her voice.
"Mom told me Vanessa has been pressuring her."
I frowned.
"About what?"
"Her house."
My stomach tightened.
Our mother owned a modest brick home in Decatur.
She'd lived there for nearly thirty years.
After Dad died, she paid off the mortgage.
It was the one thing she always said she wanted to leave to her children.
"What about the house?"
Angela hesitated.
"Vanessa wants Mom to sell it."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
"She says Mom needs assisted living."
I rubbed my forehead.
Mom had recently discussed moving somewhere smaller.
But she'd always insisted she wanted to choose when and where.
"That doesn't explain the pressure."
Angela nodded.
"Exactly."
Then she reached into her handbag.
She removed a folded paper.
"Mom gave me this last week."
I opened it.
It was an authorization form.
At the top were the same words I'd noticed sticking out of Vanessa's handbag.
ELDER CARE AUTHORIZATION.
My heart began pounding.
I scanned the document.
It named Vanessa as a proposed decision-maker for certain residential and financial matters.
I stared at Angela.
"Why would Vanessa be involved?"
Angela shook her head.
"That's what Mom wanted to know."
I looked toward the signature line.
There was a handwritten name.
Evelyn Williams.
But something was wrong.
Mom's signature was usually careful and rounded.
This one looked shaky.
Uneven.
Almost as though someone had tried to imitate it.
I swallowed.
"Did Mom sign this?"
Angela shook her head.
"She says she didn't."
My stomach twisted.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then Angela continued.
"Mom told me Vanessa became angry when she refused to discuss selling the house."
I looked up.
"How angry?"
Angela's eyes filled.
"She threatened to make sure Mom wouldn't be allowed to live independently."
I felt sick.
I remembered Vanessa complaining that Mom was becoming forgetful.
She said Mom misplaced things.
Missed appointments.
Repeated stories.
I thought she was simply worried about an aging parent.
Now I wondered whether she'd been building a case against her.
I looked at Angela.
"Why didn't Mom tell me?"
She sighed.
"Because she thought you wouldn't believe her."
Those words hurt more than anything.
My mother.
The woman who raised me.
The person who sacrificed everything so I could succeed.
She'd been afraid I would choose my wife over her.
I stared at the document.
Then my phone rang.
Vanessa.
I declined the call.
It rang again.
Then a message appeared.
YOUR MOTHER NEEDS PROFESSIONAL CARE. STOP LETTING HER MANIPULATE YOU.
I showed Angela.
She shook her head.
"Marcus, this isn't normal."
I nodded slowly.
"No."
Then another message arrived.
YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT SHE SIGNED.
My stomach tightened.
I looked at the elder care authorization.
Then toward the operating room doors.
My mother had been injured.
Someone had submitted paperwork she denied signing.
And my wife seemed desperate to control the decisions that followed.
I stood.
"Angela, I'm calling an attorney."
She nodded.
"Good."
Then my phone vibrated one more time.
This time, the message came from an unfamiliar number.
It contained a photograph.
My mother's front porch.
May you like
And beneath it were six words.
SHE ALREADY HAS A BUYER WAITING.
