I didn’t argue. I took my mother somewhere safe, then opened a folder I had hidden beneath the bed. Inside was a power of attorney for a house worth nearly $7 million—and a signature my mother swore she had never signed. I stared at that signature for a long moment. Then I noticed one detail on the final page that made my bl00d run cold.
Part 1
“Don’t take me to that house, Gabriel… if she finds out where I am, she’s going to finish what she started.”
Those were the first words my mother said to me after nearly two years apart.
That afternoon, I had just returned home to Chicago after working for months on a construction contract in Minneapolis. I stepped off the train near the old station carrying my duffel bag and a gift bag packed with things for my mother: fresh bakery bread, a tin of chamomile tea, and a thick wool cardigan because she was always complaining about the cold lake breeze.
I imagined her scolding me for taking so long to come back.
But two blocks from the station, I saw a woman walking slowly through the rain-soaked street.
She was carrying an elderly woman on her back.
The woman was wearing a frayed brown coat, her jeans splattered with mud, holding a pharmacy bag in one hand. The old woman on her back had her right leg bandaged from knee to ankle.
Something about the sight felt sickeningly familiar.
I quickened my pace.
Then the woman turned her head.
My stomach dropped straight to the floor.
It was Maya.
My ex-wife.
The woman I had accused two years earlier of being selfish, money-hungry, and cruel to my mother. The woman I had divorced, convinced she was trying to drive a wedge between my family and me just to get her hands on the suburban home my father had left us.
“Maya?!”
She froze.
When I saw the face of the fragile woman on her back, the gift bag slipped from my fingers and hit the wet sidewalk.
“Mom?”
My mother, Eleanor, looked like she had aged fifteen years. She was so thin I barely recognized her. Her lips were cracked, her cheeks hollowed out, and deep, yellowish bruises covered both of her wrists.
I rushed toward them. “What happened?! Why are you like this? How long have you been sick?!”
Mom didn’t answer. I reached out to lift her off Maya’s back and carry her to a cab, but Mom clung desperately to Maya’s neck, weeping.
“I don’t want to go back,” Mom whimpered.
I stood frozen in the rain. “Go back where?”
Tears streamed down her sunken cheeks. “To the house.”
That house had been her home for over thirty years.
Then I asked the first thing that came to my mind: “Where is Chloe?”
Chloe was my current wife. The woman I had left in charge of taking care of Mom while I was working out of state.
Maya lowered her eyes. “We can’t talk here on the street, Gabriel.”
I looked at the pharmacy bag in Maya’s hand and pulled out one of the discharge papers tucked inside.
Mercy General Hospital.
Patient: Eleanor Martinez.
Admit Date: Seventeen days ago.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands.
Three days ago, Chloe had texted me:
“Mom is doing fantastic today! She even went out to water the flowers on the porch.”
Five days ago, I had received a text from my mother’s cell phone:
“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Focus on your work.”
I held the screen in front of my mother’s face.
Mom stared at the text messages with an expression I will never forget.
“I didn’t write that,” she whispered, trembling.
An icy chill ran straight down my spine. “Then who has your phone?”
Mom began to shake uncontrollably. Maya held her tighter, supporting her frail weight. “Later, Gabriel. Not here.”
“Later after what?!”
Mom squeezed Maya’s hand and whispered into her shoulder, “Please don’t tell Chloe where I am.”
The air left my lungs completely.
Maya ended up leading us to a cramped, basement studio apartment in a working-class neighborhood on the outskirts of the city.
Inside, there was a single twin bed, two thin foam mattresses rolled against the wall, and dozens of prescription bottles cluttering a plastic folding table.
“Mom lives here?” I asked, staring at the room in utter disbelief.
“For almost three months,” Maya said quietly.
“With you?”
Maya nodded.