Chapter 2 - The Document of Deception
The following morning,
the kitchen was filled with the smell of expensive coffee.
Mason had gone out to buy the pods I paid for,
acting like a dutiful son.
He sat at the table with a stack of papers,
his pen clicking rhythmically.
“Mom,”
he started,
not looking up from the page,
“Harper and I were thinking.
You’ve been doing so much lately,
and with Uncle Arthur passing,
there’s a lot of boring paperwork to handle.”
I sipped my tea,
noticing how his hand trembled slightly.
“Is there,
dear?”
I asked,
tilting my head.
“Yes,”
he said,
sliding a document toward me.
“It’s just a simple Power of Attorney.
It just means I can go to the bank for you,
pay the bills,
and make sure nobody tries to scam you.”
I looked down at the paper.
It was a general Power of Attorney,
giving him total control over my physical and financial existence.
It was the death warrant for my independence.
“Oh,
Mason,
that sounds like a lot of work for you,”
I said,
my heart hammering against my ribs.
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
Harper leaned over the counter,
her eyes wide and artificial.
“You’re never a burden,
Eleanor.
We just want you to be safe.
Remember how you forgot where you parked yesterday?”
I looked at her,
marveling at how easily the lie tripped off her tongue.
I hadn't forgotten where I parked;
I had been at a law office for four hours.
“I suppose I did,”
I murmured,
picking up the pen.
I felt their breath hitch.
They were so close to the finish line.
I hovered the pen over the signature line,
then stopped.
“Actually,
I should probably have Mr. Henderson look at this.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
“Mr. Henderson?”
Mason asked,
his voice rising an octave.
“He’s been retired for five years,
Mom.”
“Has he?”
I asked,
feigning surprise.
“Time just slips away.”
“Exactly,”
Mason said,
seizing the moment.
“That’s why we need this.
You’re getting things mixed up.
Just sign it,
and we can go get some lunch.”
I put the pen down and smiled.
“I’ll think about it today.
My hand is a bit shaky this morning.”
The frustration on his face was a work of art.
He wanted to scream,
to force my hand,
but he had to maintain the persona of the caring son.
“Sure,
Mom,”
he said through gritted teeth.
“Take your time.”
I walked out of the kitchen,
hearing their whispers start the moment the door swung shut.
“She’s slipping further than I thought,”
Harper hissed.
“We need to get her to a doctor,”
Mason replied,
“one who will sign the competency declaration.”
I went into my bedroom and locked the door.
I took out my phone and sent a text to Mr. Sterling.
“They’ve started the push.
Move to phase two.”
I spent the afternoon packing a small bag of essentials,
hiding it at the back of my closet.
I wasn't just losing a son;
I was losing the memory of the boy I had raised.
But as I looked at the photo of Mason as a child on my nightstand,
I didn't feel regret.
I felt a cold,
hard resolve.
May you like
The woman who cleaned houses and worked three jobs to feed him was still inside me,
and she knew how to fight.
