The next day I called Mr. Andrew Harrison. He was a man in his 50s, with a calm voice and formal manners. He scheduled an appointment for the following Tuesday in his office.
«Mr. Arthur was very clear in his instructions, Mrs. Miller,» he said, as we reviewed the documents. «These properties are yours without any condition. The apartment units are currently rented, generating a total monthly income of approximately $4,500.»
«That money has been accumulating in an account since Mr. Arthur’s passing. There is already close to $9,000 available.»
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded as he continued.
«The beach house is unoccupied. Your brother used it occasionally, but it is in perfect condition. It is fully furnished, utilities are current, and it’s ready for you to live in whenever you wish.»
«And what do I have to do?» I finally asked.
«Nothing, ma’am. Just sign the transfer documents before a notary public. The process takes approximately two weeks. After that, everything will officially be in your name.»
«And no one can take it from me?»
Mr. Harrison looked at me intently. «No one, Mrs. Miller. These properties are yours by testamentary right. No one can claim them, sell them, or dispose of them without your express and notarized consent. Your brother made sure of that.»
It was then that I told him everything. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe because I needed to say it out loud. Maybe because I saw in his eyes an understanding I couldn’t find in my own home.
I told him about Christopher, about Lucy, about the disappearing money, about the comments concerning my memory, about how I felt increasingly smaller in my own life.
He listened without interrupting. When I finished, he nodded slowly.
«Your brother warned me that something like this might be happening,» he said. «That is why he was so specific in his instructions. Mrs. Miller, I cannot tell you what to do with your family, but I can tell you this: If at any moment you feel you are being pressured to sign something, to give your consent to something, or if you feel you are at risk in any way, call me.»
«Any hour. I will protect your interests. It is what I promised your brother.»
He gave me his business card. I put it in the safest place I could think of: inside my bra.
We signed the papers that day. Mr. Harrison explained that in two weeks I would have to return for the final signing before a notary public, and that on that day everything would be official.
«In the meantime,» he told me, «I suggest you do not mention any of this to anyone. Absolutely no one.»
«Understood,» I replied.
But as I drove back home, with the preliminary documents in my handbag, I couldn’t help but feel an emotion I hadn’t felt in years. It was something like hope. It was something like power.
For the first time in a long time, I had something they didn’t know about. I had an ace up my sleeve. I had a way out.
And then, just as I got home, and was about to tell them everything because my mother’s heart didn’t know how to keep secrets, I heard them planning to destroy me.
The days after hearing that conversation were the strangest of my life. I moved through the house like a ghost who can see the living but can’t touch them. I smiled when I should smile. I nodded when I should nod.
But inside, I was completely awake for the first time in years, observing every detail with a painful clarity. I started remembering things. Small things that seemed insignificant at the time, but now took on a completely different meaning.
It was as if someone had turned on a light in a dark room, and suddenly I could see all the traps they had set for me. I remembered that time, six months ago, when Lucy asked me to sign some papers.
«It’s to update the home insurance, Ophelia,» she had said, with that sweet smile that I could now see for what it was. A mask. «Just your signature here and here.»
I had signed without reading. I trusted her. I trusted that she had my best interests in mind. Now I wondered what the hell I had signed that day.
I remembered when Christopher convinced me to put his name on my bank account.
«It’s in case something happens to you, mum. That way, I can access your funds to pay for your medication or whatever you need. It’s just a precaution.»
A precaution. Sure, a precaution for him, not for me. Since that day, my account had started draining faster.
I remembered the doctor’s visits Lucy had arranged last year. «Just a routine checkup, Ophelia. At your age, it’s important to have checkups.»
The doctor had asked me strange questions. About my memory. About whether I forgot things. About whether I got confused. I had answered honestly, mentioning small, normal forgetfulness for anyone 71 years old.
But now I realised. They were building a file. They were documenting every little slip-up to use it against me.
I remembered when they started isolating me from my friends. It wasn’t abrupt. It was gradual. Almost imperceptible.
First it was Caroline, my lifelong friend. We had planned to have lunch on a Tuesday. I was ready, waiting in the living room when Lucy arrived with a worried expression.
«Ophelia, Caroline called. She says she has to cancel. Apparently her daughter is sick.»
I believed her. I sent Caroline a message wishing her well. She replied, confused.
«What are you talking about, Ophelia? I waited for you at the restaurant for two hours. Did you forget our date?»
When I showed the message to Lucy, she denied telling me anything.
«Maybe you got confused, Ophelia. Maybe you dreamed it. I told you.»
And I, God forgive me, started to doubt myself. I started to think that maybe I had gotten confused. Then it was Linda. Then Harriet.
One by one, my friends disappeared from my life, each time with a different excuse, each time leaving me more isolated, more dependent on Christopher and Lucy.
I remembered the day I wanted to go to the bank alone. Lucy insisted on accompanying me.
«The area is dangerous, Ophelia. I don’t want anything to happen to you.»
At the bank, she spoke for me. She made the transactions. I just signed where they told me. The teller didn’t even look me in the eye. To him, I was an invisible old woman, and my daughter-in-law was the one who really mattered.
I remembered the conversations where Christopher would mention his debts. Never directly. Always in conversations with Lucy that I just happened to overhear.
«I don’t know how we’re going to pay this. The creditors are pressuring us. If we don’t get the money soon, we’re going to lose everything.»
And I, predictable as the sunrise, would always offer help. «I have some savings, son. We can use that.»
Now I realized those conversations were not accidental. I was meant to hear them. It was theatre designed to manipulate my maternal guilt, to make me feel that if I didn’t rescue them, I would be responsible for their ruin.
I remembered when they started talking about retirement communities. They didn’t call them that, of course. They called them «communities for older adults» or «assisted living residences.»
Lucy would leave colourful brochures on the dining room table.
«Look how nice, Ophelia. They have activities. 24-hour nurses. People your age. You wouldn’t be alone.»
She said it as if it were a gift. As if they were offering me a permanent vacation. Christopher supported the idea with subtle comments.
«You get bored here, mum. In those places you would have people to talk to, things to do.»
What they really meant was, «In those places you would be out of the way and we would have your house.»
I remembered last week when Lucy prepared a special tea for me.
«It’s to help you sleep better, Ophelia. I’ve noticed you’re tired lately.»
I drank that tea without suspecting anything. That night I slept for almost 12 hours straight. The next day I was groggy, confused.
Lucy took the opportunity to comment. «See? That’s how you are lately. Disoriented. Maybe we should talk to the doctor.»
Now I wondered what the hell she had put in that tea. All these memories hit me like waves. Each one was a small betrayal.
And altogether they formed a meticulous plan to empty me out, declare me incompetent, and take everything that was mine.
But they didn’t know three fundamental things.
First, I had listened. I knew exactly what they were planning to do.
Second, I had properties worth almost $800,000 that they didn’t even know existed.
Third, Ophelia Miller had just woken up. And a woman of 71 who survived poverty, widowhood, loneliness, and years of silent manipulation is much stronger than anyone could imagine.
That night, while they slept, I took an old notebook from my bedside table drawer. It was a notebook Robert had given me years ago with worn leather covers. I had never used it. Now it had the perfect purpose.
On the first page I wrote, The Defense Diary of Ophelia Miller.
And I started writing everything down. Every date, every suspicious conversation, every paper they had made me sign. Every time they had isolated me from my friends. Every comment about my memory. Every strange visit to the doctor. Everything.
I also wrote down the name and number for Mr. Andrew Harrison, the details of my inheritance, the important dates. The final signing before the notary was scheduled for 10 days from now.
I had to survive those 10 days without raising suspicion. The next day, I called Caroline from a payphone. I couldn’t use my cell phone. Christopher had insisted on «configuring it better for me» a few months ago. Now I suspected he had access to my calls and messages.
«Ophelia, where have you been?» Caroline asked with a worried voice. «I’ve tried calling you but your daughter-in-law always says you’re resting or not feeling well.»
«Caroline, I need you to listen to me and not tell anyone about this,» I told her. And I told her everything. Every word I had heard. Every piece of the plan.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
«Ophelia, you have to get out of that house,» she finally said. «Those people are dangerous.»
«I know, but I can’t yet. I have to wait for a legal matter to be resolved. 10 more days. I just need to hold on for 10 days.»
«What if in those 10 days they make you sign something? What if they take you to the doctor and manage to have you declared incompetent?»
«I’m not signing anything else. And if they try to take me to the doctor, I’m going to refuse. I’ll make a scene if necessary.»
Caroline sighed. «You have my number. Anything. Any hour. You call me. And if in two days I don’t hear from you, I’m coming to that house and I’m going to create the biggest scandal you’ve ever seen.»
«Thank you, Caroline. You’re the only friend I have left.»
«I was always your friend, Ophelia. I was the one who stopped insisting. I should have realised what was happening.»
When I hung up, I felt a weight lift from my chest. Someone else knew. Someone else was watching. I was no longer completely alone.
That afternoon, Lucy found me in the kitchen preparing coffee.
«Ophelia, we need to talk,» she said with that serious tone she used when she wanted something to sound important.
«Tell me, honey.»
«Christopher and I are worried about you. We’ve noticed you’ve been very distracted lately. You forget things. You get confused.»
I took a deep breath. It was time to act.
«Really? I hadn’t noticed,» I replied softly, looking directly into her eyes.
«That’s why we want to take you to a specialist, a neurologist, just to do a full evaluation. It’s for your own good.»
«When?»
«Thursday. We already have an appointment.»
Thursday was in two days, and my notary signing was in ten. If they took me to that neurologist on Thursday, I would surely leave there with a pre-prepared diagnosis of «cognitive decline,» and then the plan would accelerate.
«Alright,» I finally said. «If you think it’s necessary, I’ll go.»
Lucy seemed surprised by my docility. She expected resistance, but I had learned something these past few days. Sometimes the best defence is to appear defenceless.
«Perfect,» she said with a smile. «It will do you good. You’ll see.»
When she left, I took Mr. Harrison’s business card out of my bra and memorised his number. In two days, early on Thursday, before they took me to that neurologist, I was going to make a call that would change everything.
On Wednesday night, I heard the conversation that confirmed all my suspicions and snapped the last thread of hope I had left. It was late. I was in my room, but I couldn’t sleep. There was something in the air, an electrical tension that kept me alert.
I heard Christopher and Lucy come up the stairs, speaking in low voices. They passed my door and continued to their room at the end of the hall.
I got up barefoot and walked silently until I was close to their door. It was slightly ajar. I could hear every word with crystal clarity.
«Tomorrow is the day,» Lucy said with a determined voice. «Dr. Thompson has everything ready. He’s going to diagnose moderate senile dementia with a recommendation for immediate institutionalisation.»
«What if she refuses?» Christopher asked.
«She won’t refuse. We’re going to give her the sedative in her breakfast, as we agreed. By the time we get to the office, she’ll be disoriented enough for the diagnosis to be credible.»
«The doctor will ask the questions. She’ll fail the answers. And that’s it. We have the certificate.»
I felt my blood run cold.
«And how much is this going to cost us?» Christopher asked.
«Five thousand dollars. We’ll pay it with the money we take out of her account, as soon as we have guardianship. I’ve already spoken with the attorney. Once we have the medical certificate and your signature as the only son, we can process the guardianship in less than a week.»
«Then comes the good part.»
«How much do you estimate we can get with everything?»
Lucy paused. I imagined her doing mental calculations. «The house is easily worth three hundred thousand dollars. Maybe more if we wait a bit. But I say we sell fast. She still has about six thousand dollars in her account.»
«Her pension is one thousand two hundred dollars a month. If we institutionalise her, that pension passes to us as guardians. The assisted living facility costs two thousand dollars monthly. But with what we get from the house, we can pay for three years in there and still have about two hundred fifty thousand dollars clean for us.»
«Two hundred fifty thousand,» Christopher repeated. And in his voice there was something that broke my heart. It was relief. It was happiness. My own son was happy, thinking about locking me up and stealing from me.
«With that, we pay off all the debts, invest in the new business, and finally we can live the life we deserve,» Lucy continued, «without having to take care of an old woman who is more useless every day.»
«What if someone asks questions? What if one of her friends gets involved?»
Lucy laughed. It was a cold, calculating laugh. «What friends? We pushed them all away months ago. She has no one. Her brother is dead. There are no close relatives.»
«We are all she has. And when she’s institutionalised, we control who visits her and who doesn’t. If someone asks, we show the medical certificate and explain that, unfortunately, her condition worsened and she needed professional care. Period.»
«It sounds too easy.»
«It’s because it is easy, Christopher. Your mother is an old woman, alone, without real resources. No one is going to ask questions. No one is going to investigate. This kind of thing happens every day. Families institutionalising their elders because they can no longer care for them. It’s perfectly normal.»
There was a silence. Then Christopher’s voice, lower. «Sometimes I feel bad about this.»
«Don’t be weak now,» Lucy said harshly. «She had her life. She had her marriage, her youth, everything. Now it’s our turn. And besides, we’re going to pay for a good place. We’re not leaving her on the street.»
«She’ll have food, a bed, nurses. She’ll be fine.»
«I suppose so.»
«Don’t suppose. You know so. And you know we have no other option. Your debts are $80,000, Christopher. Eighty thousand. If we don’t pay soon, they’re going to come for us.»
«Do you want us to lose everything? Do you want us to end up on the street while she’s still sitting here on this house that’s worth a fortune?»
«No.»
«So tomorrow we get up early, give her the medication, take her to the doctor, get the certificate, and start the process. In a month, all this will be a bad memory and we’ll be living the life we deserve.»
I heard movement inside the room. I quickly moved away and returned to my room without making a sound.
