Chapter 2 - DON’T LET HER TAKE THE PURSE
“Carla!”
She reached the bedroom door before I did.
I was still holding Irene, so I couldn’t chase her.
“Don’t let her leave!” I shouted.
Mom stepped in front of me.
“Austin, please. Irene needs you.”
The sentence was so calculated it made me sick.
“You were pulling her hair thirty seconds ago.”
“I was trying to stop her from hurting herself!”
I stared at her.
Even now.
Even with the safe smashed, Irene bleeding, and sirens outside, my mother was building a story.
Carla sprinted down the hallway.
Then the front doors shook under heavy pounding.
“Paradise Valley Police!”
Carla stopped halfway down the staircase.
For the first time, she seemed to understand she had nowhere to go.
Two officers entered with weapons drawn.
“Hands where we can see them!”
Carla slowly placed her purse on the floor.
Mom began sobbing harder.
“This is a misunderstanding!”
One officer came upstairs while another detained Carla.
Within seconds, paramedics were kneeling beside Irene.
I stepped back only when they asked me to.
“How far along?”
“Twelve weeks. Maybe thirteen. We have an appointment Monday.”
The paramedic nodded and began checking her vitals.
Irene’s eyes fluttered.
“Austin?”
“I’m here.”
Her hand found mine.
Then she looked past me and saw Mom.
She started shaking.
“No.”
It came out as a whisper.
“No, no, don’t let her—”
“She can’t touch you.”
Mom looked offended.
“Irene, stop acting like I’m some monster.”
One of the officers turned toward her.
“Ma’am, step away.”
“She’s my daughter-in-law!”
“I said step away.”
That shut her up.
I followed the paramedics downstairs.
As they placed Irene onto a stretcher, the second officer held up Carla’s purse.
“Mr. Wentworth, you said you saw medication?”
“Yes.”
He pulled out the bottle.
The prescription label said IRENE WENTWORTH.
The medication inside did not match the label.
The officer frowned.
“What is this supposed to be?”
“I don’t know.”
Irene looked over from the stretcher.
Her face changed.
“I know.”
Everyone turned.
She swallowed.
“My prenatal vitamins.”
I looked at the bottle again.
Those were not prenatal vitamins.
“They’ve been giving them to me every morning,” Irene whispered.
My chest tightened.
“Who?”
She looked at my mother.
“Margaret.”
Mom exploded.
“That is ridiculous!”
The officer raised his voice.
“Ma’am.”
“You can’t seriously believe her!”
Irene started crying.
Quietly.
“I thought I was sick because of the pregnancy.”
I walked closer.
“What have you been feeling?”
“Dizzy. Weak. Confused sometimes. I kept falling asleep.”
She looked ashamed.
“I thought I was becoming a bad mother before the baby was even born.”
I squeezed her hand.
“You should’ve told me.”
“I tried.”
That answer stopped me.
“What?”
Her eyes met mine.
“I tried to tell you, Austin.”
I remembered the business calls.
The trips.
The nights I had walked into our bedroom while Irene sat awake and said, “Can we talk?”
And I had answered, “Can it wait until tomorrow?”
Every time.
The shame was immediate.
The paramedics rolled her toward the ambulance.
One officer approached me.
“We need you to come down to the station after the hospital.”
“Of course.”
“And Mr. Wentworth?”
“Yes?”
He held up my phone.
“You said you recorded what happened?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then he glanced toward the suitcase.
“I think you’re going to want to look at the documents your sister packed.”
I followed his gaze.
One folder had fallen open.
Across the top page were the words:
PETITION FOR TEMPORARY GUARDIANSHIP — AUSTIN WENTWORTH
I stared at it.
“I’m not incapacitated.”
The officer said nothing.
I picked up the second page.
There was a doctor’s signature beneath a statement declaring that I suffered from a severe neurological condition and could no longer manage my own financial affairs.
The signature looked official.
The diagnosis looked terrifying.
May you like
There was only one problem.
I had never met the doctor.
