Chapter 2 - THE ROOM BESIDE THE LAUNDRY
I turned around.
Derek stood in the doorway looking guilty instead of surprised.
That told me everything.
“You knew.”
He closed the door behind him.
“Keep your voice down.”
I held up the apartment application.
“You knew Mom was trying to leave her own house?”
“It’s complicated.”
“No. Complicated is a ventilator failing during a code blue. This is simple.”
I stepped closer.
“Our mother is scared of your wife.”
Derek rubbed his forehead.
“You don’t know Melissa.”
“I watched her slap Mom.”
“She lost her temper.”
“You say that like she burned dinner.”
His jaw tightened.
“Melissa’s under a lot of pressure.”
“And that gives her permission to hit a sixty-six-year-old woman?”
He said nothing.
I pointed toward the narrow folding bed beside the laundry room.
“When did Mom lose her bedroom?”
“Linda has a bad back.”
Linda.
Melissa’s mother.
She had taken the main bedroom upstairs—the room I had specifically renovated for Mom after Dad died.
“And that means our mother sleeps beside a dryer?”
“It was supposed to be temporary.”
I laughed once.
“That seems to be the favorite word in this house.”
Derek lowered his voice.
“Rachel, don’t blow everything up tonight.”
“I haven’t even started.”
He looked genuinely afraid.
That got my attention.
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you sweating?”
He moved toward the door.
“Just stay out of it.”
I grabbed his arm.
“Derek.”
He looked at my hand.
Then at me.
“I’m warning you.”
My brother had never spoken to me like that before.
Something cold moved through my chest.
“Warning me?”
“This isn’t your life anymore.”
I released him.
“You’re right.”
He relaxed slightly.
Then I added,
“It’s my property.”
His face changed.
Just a flicker.
But I saw it.
“You remember that, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Does Melissa?”
Silence.
That answered my question.
I opened the door.
Derek caught my wrist.
“Rachel.”
His grip was hard.
Too hard.
I looked down at his fingers.
“Take your hand off me.”
He released me immediately.
I thought about the bruises on Mom’s wrist.
The shape.
The width.
I looked back at Derek.
For the first time, a terrible question entered my mind.
Was Melissa the only one hurting her?
Downstairs, laughter erupted from the dining room.
I walked into the kitchen and found Mom loading the dishwasher while the guests ate appetizers.
“Stop.”
She looked at me.
“What?”
“Come sit down.”
“I need to finish.”
“No, you don’t.”
Melissa appeared behind us.
“Yes, she does.”
I turned.
Melissa smiled sweetly.
“Dinner won’t serve itself.”
“Then serve it.”
Her smile vanished.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Rachel, you may be Derek’s sister, but you’re a guest here.”
I almost admired the confidence.
Almost.
Mom tugged my sleeve.
“Please.”
I looked at her face.
She wasn’t protecting Melissa.
She was protecting me from Melissa.
That realization made me sick.
I leaned close to Mom.
“Did they take money from you?”
She went still.
Melissa’s eyes sharpened.
“Money?”
Mom quickly shook her head.
“No.”
“Mom.”
“I said no.”
She hurried away.
Melissa watched her go.
Then she turned to me.
“You should really stop upsetting her.”
“That’s an interesting sentence coming from you.”
She stepped closer.
“Your mother needs structure. Without us, she’d forget everything.”
“She seems to remember how to scrub your patio.”
Melissa’s face hardened.
“You think you know everything because you send money and make video calls.”
“I don’t think I know everything.”
I leaned toward her.
“That’s why I’m looking.”
For the first time, she looked nervous.
Only for a second.
Then she smiled.
“Look all you want.”
So I did.
While everyone ate, I went through the kitchen drawers.
I found a chore schedule listing only Mom’s name.
Cooking.
Cleaning.
Laundry.
Bathrooms.
Shopping.
Yard work.
Seven days a week.
Then I opened a drawer beneath the coffee machine.
Bank statements.
Mom’s Social Security account.
Cash withdrawals every month.
Four hundred dollars.
Six hundred.
Eight hundred.
ATM locations Mom never visited.
And one recurring electronic transfer.
$725.
Every month.
To an account with the initials D.M.
Derek Miller.
My brother.
I took pictures.
Then I noticed a second envelope.
Inside was a credit card statement.
The card was in Mom’s name.
The purchases were not.
Designer clothes.
Restaurants.
Spa treatments.
A $3,800 handbag.
I knew exactly who carried that handbag.
Melissa had it hanging on a chair twenty feet away.
I closed my eyes.
This wasn’t just cruelty.
They were stealing from her.
Then I saw one final document underneath the statements.
A notarized paper.
I unfolded it.
My breath stopped.
It was labeled:
PROPERTY TRANSFER AGREEMENT.
And at the bottom was a signature.
May you like
My name.
Except I had never signed it.
