Chapter 2 - THE EVALUATION
The next morning, Abigail woke me with coffee.
She was smiling.
“Today is important.”
I sat up.
“For Mom?”
“For all of us.”
She had already arranged the psychiatric evaluation.
The appointment was at ten o'clock.
The doctor was Dr. Leonard Pierce.
According to Abigail, he was an expert in elderly patients with dementia.
I knew something else.
His name appeared in the financial records I had found.
A payment of $12,500 had been made to a consulting company connected to his office.
The payment had come from the same company requesting $80,000 from Mom's account.
I didn't confront Abigail.
Instead, I smiled.
“I'm glad you're handling this.”
She touched my arm.
“You need to trust me.”
“I do.”
Her eyes softened.
She believed me.
Mom was brought downstairs at nine.
She wore a plain blue sweater.
Her hair was uncombed.
Her face looked exhausted.
Abigail held her arm.
“Careful.”
Mom looked at her.
“Who are you?”
Abigail froze.
I almost smiled.
“Mom,” I said gently.
She stared at me.
Then frowned.
“Do I know you?”
Abigail's face brightened with relief.
“Oh, Samuel. She doesn't recognize you.”
I lowered my head.
“That's okay.”
Mom's eyes met mine for half a second.
There was nothing confused about them.
Only intelligence.
And fury.
At the clinic, Dr. Pierce greeted us warmly.
“Mrs. Carter, I'm Dr. Pierce.”
Mom stared at him.
“Are you a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know my son?”
He looked at me.
“Samuel?”
Mom shook her head.
“I don't have a son.”
Abigail pressed her lips together.
Dr. Pierce made notes.
I watched him.
He had already decided what he wanted to see.
During the evaluation, he asked Mom questions.
“What year is it?”
She answered incorrectly.
“Where are you?”
She looked around.
“Somewhere I don't want to be.”
Abigail quickly interrupted.
“She does that.”
I remained silent.
Dr. Pierce asked Mom to draw a clock.
She drew a perfect clock.
Then deliberately placed the numbers incorrectly.
The doctor noticed.
I noticed too.
When the evaluation ended, Dr. Pierce spoke privately with Abigail.
I stood in the hallway.
The door was not completely closed.
“She appears to have significant cognitive impairment,” he said.
Abigail sighed.
“I knew it.”
“We should discuss guardianship.”
My jaw tightened.
Then Dr. Pierce said:
“Once the paperwork is signed, the financial management issue can be addressed.”
I stepped away before they saw me.
Financial management issue.
There it was.
The evaluation was not about Mom's health.
It was about control.
On the drive home, Abigail looked at me.
“You heard what the doctor said.”
“I did.”
“She's getting worse.”
I stared out the window.
“Probably.”
Abigail smiled.
That afternoon, she brought out a stack of papers.
“Just routine documents.”
I looked at them.
“What's this?”
“Temporary authorization.”
“For what?”
“Medical decisions.”
I turned the page.
The document also granted access to Mom's financial accounts.
I looked up.
“Why does a medical authorization include bank accounts?”
Abigail blinked.
“It doesn't.”
I pointed to the paragraph.
Her face changed.
“You don't understand legal language.”
I smiled.
“Maybe not.”
Before joining the military, I had spent four years investigating financial fraud for the state attorney general's office.
I understood legal language very well.
The document was designed to give Abigail control of Mom's money.
I signed nothing.
That evening, I went upstairs.
Mom was sitting on the mattress.
I unlocked the door.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Your doctor thinks you're incompetent.”
She smiled.
“Excellent.”
I stared at her.
“You're enjoying this?”
“No.”
She lifted her sleeve.
More bruises.
This time, there were marks around her upper arms.
“She did this?”
Mom looked toward the door.
“Not always her.”
“Who else?”
She was silent.
“Mom.”
“Someone came here twice.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he want?”
She looked at me.
“Your father.”
I froze.
“My father died seven years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you say his name?”
Mom's fingers tightened around the blanket.
“Because the man who came here knew things only your father would have known.”
I felt a chill.
“What things?”
Mom stared at me.
“He asked me where your father hid the second account.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“I told him there was no second account.”
“Is there?”
Mom looked toward the locked door.
Then whispered:
“Yes.”
Before I could ask another question, footsteps approached.
Mom immediately changed her expression.
Her eyes became vacant.
Her voice became weak.
“Who are you?”
I understood.
Someone was coming.
The door opened.
Abigail stood there.
She smiled.
“Time for your medication, Mom.”
Mom looked at me.
“Who is she?”
I lowered my eyes.
“I'm not sure.”
Abigail's smile widened.
She thought she had won.
But as she turned away, I noticed something.
A small black mark on her wrist.
The same shape as the bruise around Mom's arm.
I looked at my wife.
May you like
And for the first time, I wondered if Abigail had been the one hurting my mother…
Or if she had been protecting someone who was.
