I crouched to retrieve my pen and slowly steadied my breathing.
“I’m Olivia Carter, the director of Maple Grove Residence. We’ll make sure you’re comfortable here, Mrs. Margaret.”
Brandon walked out without so much as a farewell. The automatic glass doors closed behind him, and my mother whispered with unmistakable pride:
“My son is the only person I have left in this world.”
I stood less than six feet from her. What I couldn’t have imagined was that, before the month ended, I’d be forced to decide whether to protect the very woman who had once decided I wasn’t worth keeping.
PART 2
During her first seven days, Margaret Hayes made life at Maple Grove Residence almost unbearable. She complained about the meals, spoke harshly to our nurse, Rachel, and insisted that we move her roommate, Mrs. Helen, an eighty-year-old former schoolteacher.
“I certainly didn’t come here to sleep in the same room as some old stranger.”
“Well, that makes two of us,” Helen answered, keeping her attention on her crossword. “I never asked to share a room with an ill-mannered woman.”
My mother threatened almost daily to contact Brandon and have our facility closed. One afternoon, she studied my professional certificate and a framed picture of Aunt Martha, the woman who had cared for me growing up, before making a cutting remark.
“You’re awfully young to be in charge of a place like this. I imagine some rich husband gave you everything without your having to work for it.”
She didn’t know that my husband, Thomas, had spent countless weekends repairing the old building’s roof himself, or that I’d worked back-to-back nursing shifts to make our loan payments. She also had no idea how often Aunt Martha had reminded me as a child, “Being abandoned by someone doesn’t mean you should abandon other people.”
The money Brandon had left in the envelope was nowhere near enough for six months. It barely covered the first month. After several unanswered calls, we discovered he’d blocked the facility’s telephone number.
That Saturday, Margaret borrowed a cellphone and tried reaching him herself. He didn’t answer. Eventually, she called Mrs. Linda, who had lived near her old apartment. As I listened, her voice began to tremble.
“What do you mean he sold my apartment? Who’s living there now? What happened to my photographs, Linda? Where did he put my mother’s belongings?”
She collapsed before the conversation was over.
Her blood pressure had climbed to a dangerously high level. We followed our emergency procedures and summoned an ambulance. After she received medical treatment, I stayed close to her throughout the night. Around three in the morning, she began crying in her sleep.
“My little Olivia, please forgive me. I meant to come back for you…”
