Chapter 2 - WHAT HAPPENED AT 2:14 A.M.
On the recording, Denise woke Mother by pinching her bare ankle.
Mother jerked upright.
“Take this,” Denise said, holding out two pills.
“I already took my medicine.”
“Then you forgot.”
“I didn’t forget.”
Denise placed the checkbook on the quilt. A withdrawal slip had already been filled out for twenty-eight hundred dollars.
Mother shook her head. “No more money.”
“Aaron needs another week.”
My son’s name made me grip the laptop.
Aaron was thirty-five. Two years earlier, he had stolen tools and customer deposits from my shop during an opioid relapse. I did not report him, but I told him he could not come home until he completed treatment.
Denise claimed she had stopped hearing from him six months ago.
On the screen, Mother pushed the withdrawal slip away.
“You said he was in treatment.”
“He needs somewhere safe until another bed opens.”
“You told me that last month.”
Denise seized her wrist.
Mother began trembling.
“Stop shaking,” Denise whispered. “Your son will think I hurt you.”
She forced one pill between Mother’s lips, then held the water to her mouth until she swallowed.
The video ended when Denise noticed the clock. She crossed the room, turned the lens toward the wall and unplugged it.
I watched the file twice.
Then I walked into the kitchen, where Denise sat at the table with her phone facedown.
“Where is Aaron?”
Her eyes moved toward the laptop under my arm.
“You recorded me?”
“Where is our son?”
“He’s trying to get well.”
“You told me you didn’t know where he was.”
“You said you were done saving him.”
“So you used my mother’s money?”
“She offered to help.”
The answer came too quickly.
I called my sister, Rebecca, and asked her to take Mother for the night. Then I drove Mother to the emergency room.
Blood tests showed more sedative in her system than her prescription allowed. The doctor could not determine whether it came from one extra dose or repeated misuse, but he documented the bruise and contacted Adult Protective Services.
Mother sat beneath a hospital blanket while a social worker asked whether she felt safe at home.
She looked at me for a long time.
“Not when Denise is there,” she said.
May you like
Then she added something I had not expected.
“But this started because of me.”
