My mother barely touched her food.
Each time she lifted her fork, Chloe watched.
When Mom reached for another dinner roll, Chloe quietly moved the basket farther away.
“Doctor says less bread.”
Mom immediately withdrew her hand.
“I’m not hungry anyway.”
She was lying.
I could hear her stomach growling from across the table.
After dinner Julian insisted on giving me a tour of all the improvements they’d made.
“We’ve sacrificed a lot.”
He opened a filing cabinet.
“Look.”
Every medical bill.
Every prescription.
Every grocery receipt.
Every bank statement.
Perfectly labeled.
Perfectly organized.
“We’ve dedicated our lives to taking care of Mom.”
Chloe folded her arms.
“You built your fancy career while we stayed.”
“I didn’t know caring for family was a competition.”
“It isn’t.”
She smiled.
“But people should know who actually does the work.”
Julian nodded toward another folder.
“Mom signed power of attorney last year.”
He flipped through several documents.
“Managing finances became too much for her.”
I noticed the signatures.
Something about them looked…
Different.
Shakier than my mother’s handwriting usually was.
“When did she sign these?”
“After her memory started slipping.”
“How bad is it?”
Julian shrugged.
“Some days she remembers everything.”
“Other days she thinks Dad’s still alive.”
Dad had died twelve years earlier.
“Has a neurologist diagnosed dementia?”
“We don’t need expensive specialists.”
Chloe answered before Julian could.
“Our family doctor knows enough.”
That answer bothered me.
A lot.
The rest of the evening passed with forced smiles and carefully rehearsed stories about how demanding my mother’s care had become.
According to Julian, she wandered at night.
Forgot medications.
Accused people of stealing.
Repeated questions.
Yet every time I spoke directly to Mom, her answers were perfectly logical.
