She explained how insidious the takeover had been. It began with favors—Derek cleaning the gutters, Melissa cooking dinner. Then, the knee surgery provided the perfect excuse to relocate her to the ground floor. Somehow, her antique bedroom furniture never made the journey downstairs. Her cell phone “broke,” and Derek convinced her it was cheaper to simply use a spare device locked to his family plan.
“Nobody ever asks you to hand over your entire life in one day, Iris,” she wept, wiping her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “They just ask for one hallway at a time.”
When I asked why she never alerted me, she wrung her hands. “If I complained, you would have broken your ICU contract and flown home. You would have lost your visa and the money you bled for. I wasn’t going to cost you your future twice.”
Twice. The guilt she carried over my father’s medical debt was a chain around her neck.
Then she delivered the sentence that forced me to rewrite my entire battle plan. “Anyway, when I finally get into Golden Pines, the house naturally passes to Derek. It’s his only real chance at securing a future.”
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