Chapter 2 - The Vanishing Caregiver
The guest bedroom door clicked shut, muffling the chaotic shouting from the dining room. I guided my mother to the edge of the mattress, kneeling down to gently untie the faded sash of her robe. Beneath the worn fabric, her right knee was inflamed and bruised, swollen to twice its normal size.
"Mom," I whispered, keeping my voice level despite the fury hammering behind my ribs. "Look at me. Where is Evelyn? I set up automatic bank drafts directly to her agency every single month."
My mother looked down at her hands, her fingers curling into the bedspread. "About six weeks ago, Evelyn showed up for her shift. She brought my physical therapy resistance bands and groceries. But Pamela met her at the front door. I was resting in the living room and heard Pamela telling her that their services were no longer required—that the family was handling my care to save your hard-earned money."
"And Reid?" I asked, my voice tightening. "Did Reid know?"
"Evelyn refused to leave until Reid spoke to her," Helen said softly, a tear tracing the lines of her cheek. "Reid came downstairs with a checkbook. He told Evelyn that you had called from Alaska, cutting the contract because project expenses had skyrocketed. He said you couldn't afford the seven hundred and fifty dollars a month anymore."
A sick chill settled in my stomach. "I never said that. My direct deposits went straight into the joint household account on the first of every month without interruption."
"Evelyn felt terrible," Helen continued. "She tried to leave her personal number, but Pamela snatched the card and tossed it into the trash. The next morning, Reid came in here. He told me that your project was facing massive penalties, that you were under unbearable pressure, and that if I loved you, I wouldn't add to your burden by complaining. He told me that asking for special meals or therapy would make you look bad, and that I needed to pull my own weight."
Outside the bedroom door, heavy footsteps approached, followed by an aggressive rap on the wood.
"Audrey, open this door right now!" Reid's voice was sharp, masking panic with anger. "You can't just throw food across the room, lock our finances, and hide in there like a petulant child! My mother is hyperventilating!"
I stood up, kissed Helen’s forehead, and walked to the door. When I opened it, Reid stood in the hallway, clutching a paper towel stained with cocktail sauce. Behind him, Pamela was pacing in the entryway, loudly complaining on her phone about emotional distress and wasted seafood.
"Get out of this hallway," I said quietly.
"Audrey, stop this nonsense," Reid snapped, stepping forward to crowd my space. "You made a scene in front of my entire family. Tyler and Kate were guests here. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?"
"Humiliating?" I echoed, stepping squarely into his path so he couldn't see past me. "What’s humiliating is returning home to find my mother eating spoiled food on the floor while your family gorges on lobster purchased with my debit card. What happened to Evelyn, Reid?"
His face twitched. The arrogant posture faltered for half a second before his eyes narrowed. "Evelyn was incompetent. She was overcharging you. My mother offered to step in and look after Helen out of the kindness of her heart."
"Is that why Mom's knee looks infected? Is that why she was eating rancid lentils off the floor?"
"Helen insisted on eating in the kitchen!" Reid raised his voice, gesturing wildly. "She didn't want to get in the way! You're turning this into a massive conspiracy because you're exhausted from Alaska. Just transfer the funds back, apologize to my mother, and we can discuss Evelyn in the morning."
"I’m taking Mom to the emergency room," I said, cold resolve setting in. "And while I'm gone, you, your parents, your brother, and your sister-in-law need to pack your bags."
Reid stared at me, dumbfounded. "Pack our bags? This is my house too!"
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"No, Reid," I said, pointing toward the front door. "This house was purchased six years before I met you, under my sole name, with money from my father's life insurance and my first commercial contracts. You signed a prenuptial agreement waiving any claim to premarital real estate. Pack. Your. Bags."
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