The air in the sterile hospital room was thick with tension. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor filled the silence as my daughter-in-law leaned over my bed, her breath warm against my ear, reeking of cheap coffee.
*»When are you going to disappear for good?»* she whispered, oblivious to the fact that I heard every wordand that the recorder hidden beneath my palm was capturing it all.
*»When are you going to leave?»* she hissed again.
She thought I was unconscious, just a hollow shell pumped full of medication. But I lay perfectly still beneath the thin hospital blanket, every nerve in my body coiled like a wire. The small, cold recorder pressed against my thigh had been running since an hour before she entered with my son.
*»David, shes practically a vegetable,»* Emmas voice grew louder as she moved toward the window. *»The doctors said theres no improvement. What are we waiting for?»*
I heard my son exhale deeplymy only son.
*»Em, this feels wrong. Shes my mother.»*
*»And Im your wife!»* she snapped. *»I want a proper home, not this dump. Your mother had her time. Seventy years is enough!»*
I didnt move. I barely breathed, forcing my chest to rise and fall in the slow rhythm of deep sleep. Inside, I was ash. No tearsjust ice-clear clarity.
*»The estate agent says prices are good right now,»* Emma continued, shifting to a businesslike tone. *»A two-bed in the city centrewith renovations, we could get a fortune for this place. Buy that house in the countryside we always talked about. A new car. David, wake up! This is our chance!»*
Silence. More terrifying than words. Agreement wrapped in cowardice.
*»And her things,»* Emma went on. *»Half of it is rubbish. No one wants this junkthose ugly china sets, the books Keep anything antique if theres value. Ill call an appraiser.»*
I almost smiled. *An appraiser.* She had no idea what Id arranged a week before collapsing. Every valuable pieceevery documentwas already gone. Safe.
*»Fine,»* David muttered. *»Do what you want. I cant deal with this.»*
*»Then dont, love,»* she cooed. *»Ill handle everything. You wont get your hands dirty.»*
She approached the bed. I felt her gazecalculating, assessing. Like I wasnt a person, just an obstacle to be removed.
I tightened my grip on the recorder. This was only the beginning. They had no idea what was coming.
A week passedendless days of IV drips, tasteless meals, and my silent performance. Emma and David visited daily.
My son slumped in the chair by the door, glued to his phone, as if distance could absolve him. The sight of my stillnessor his own guiltwas too much to bear.
Emma, however, thrived. She treated the room like her own, chatting loudly with friends about her dream home.
*»Yes, three bedrooms. Huge living room. And the gardenimagine! Oh, the mother-in-law? Shes in hospital, poor thing. Not expected to recover.»*
Every word recorded. My collection grew.
Today, she crossed a line. She brought a laptop, perched beside my bed, showing David listings.
*»Look at this one! And thisa real fireplace! David, are you even listening?»*
*»Im listening,»* he mumbled, not lifting his eyes. *»Its just feels wrong. Here.»*
*»Where?»* she scoffed. *»We cant wait. Ive already called the agent. Hes bringing buyers tomorrow.»*
Then she turned to me, her voice crisp.
*»Speaking of her things. I stopped by yesterday, started clearing the wardrobes. So much junk. Those clothes of hersoutdated. Bagged them for charity.»*
*My clothes.* The dress I wore when I defended my thesis. The one Davids father proposed to me in.
Every item was a memory. She wasnt just tossing fabricshe was erasing me.
David flinched. *»Why did you touch her things? Maybe she wanted»*
*»Wanted what?»* Emma cut in. *»She doesnt want anything. David, grow up. Were building our future.»*
She stood, yanking open my bedside drawer, fingers rummaging past tissues and pill packets.
*»She doesnt keep documents here? Passport? We need them for the sale.»*
There it was. The shift from pressure to action. No more waitingshe was looting me while I still breathed.
Just then, a nurse peeked in. *»Margaret, time for your medication.»*
Emmas face transformedgrief-stricken, saccharine.
*»Of course! David, lets go. Mum, well see you tomorrow,»* she purred, patting my hand.
Her touch made my skin crawl.
When they left, I didnt open my eyes until the nurses footsteps faded. Then, slowly, I turned my headmuscles stiff, but I managed.
I pulled out the recorder, pressed stop, and saved the file under *»Day Seven.»* Reaching under the pillow, I retrieved my second phonesmuggled in by my old friend and solicitor.
I dialed a memorized number.
*»Speaking,»* came the calm, professional reply.
*»James, its me,»* I rasped. *»Activate the plan. Its time.»*
The next day, at precisely 3 PM, the doorbell rang at my house. Emma swung it open, beaming.
A well-dressed couple stood with the estate agent.
*»Please, come in! Mind the messwere packing,»* she chirped, leading them through. *»The views are stunning, and the neighbours are lovely.»*
David hovered by the wall, grey-faced.
*»The flat belongs to my mother-in-law,»* Emma sighed. *»Shes not well. Doctors say theres no hope.»*
She paused for dramatic effectjust as the front door creaked open again.
This time, without a sound, my wheelchair rolled in.
I wasnt in hospital garb. I wore a tailored navy dress, my hair neat, lips faintly lined. My gaze was steady.
Behind me stood James, my solicitortall, silver-haired, immaculate in his suit.
Emma froze mid-sentence. Her smile slid off like a cheap mask.
*»Good afternoon,»* I said softly, the words cutting through the silence. *»You seem to be mistaken. This property isnt for sale.»*
I turned to the stunned buyers.
*»My apologies. My daughter-in-law overreacted to my illness and got carried away.»*
Emma found her voice. *»Mum? Howyoure not supposed to»*
*»I do what I deem necessary, dear,»* I said, icy. *»Especially when strangers try to sell my home.»*
From my pocket, I pulled out my phone and hit play. The speakers crackled with her hissed whisper:
*»When are you going to disappear?»*
Emma went white. David slumped against the wall, hands over his face.
*»I have quite the collection, Emma,»* I continued. *»Your dreams of country houses. The charity bags. The appraiser. Certain authorities will find it fascinating.»*
James stepped forward, holding a folder.
*»Margaret signed full power of attorney yesterday,»* he stated. *»Along with a police report. And an eviction noticefor moral negligence and endangerment. You have twenty-four hours to leave.»*
The documents landed on the coffee table with a final thud.
The buyers fled, muttering apologies. Only the four of us remained. The silence was suffocating.
Emma shattered it first.
*»You cant do this!»* she shrieked. *»Davids on the lease! Hes the heir!»*
*»Was the heir,»* James corrected. *»The new will, signed yesterday, leaves everything to a scholarship fund. Your husband, unfortunately, is excluded.»*
The final blow. I watched the last flicker of hope die in her eyes.
David finally stepped forward, face streaked with tears.
*»Mum please. I didnt meanshe made me»*
I looked at himthis forty-year-old man hiding behind his wifes skirt. The love Id felt, the all-consuming maternal bond, had died in that hospital bed. Now, only bitter disappointment remained.
*»No one forced your silence, David,»* I said, my voice flat. *»You made your choice. Live with it.»*
*»Where will we go?»* Emma demanded, trembling. *»The streets?»*
*»You had a rented flat before you decided mine would soon be vacant,»* I reminded her. *»Go
