“I moved. I got my own apartment.”
A long silence.
“With what money? Mom, you don’t have the resources to live alone. You need to come home before you do something you’ll regret.”
“My home? Interesting that you use that word.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, son. Just that it’s funny how sometimes words reveal more than we intend.”
“Mom, you’re talking strangely. Victoria says maybe you need medical help. We could take you to a doctor for a checkup.”
There it was, the real Victoria surfacing.
“Victoria says that. How thoughtful of her to be concerned about my mental health.”
“She just wants what’s best for you. We all want what’s best for you.”
“Like taking me to a nursing home.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Daniel.”
“Mom, I never… we never…”
“Never what? Never planned to commit me without my consent? Never discussed how convenient it would be to get rid of the burden I represent?”
“I don’t know where you heard that, but I—”
“I heard it from your wife’s lips, Daniel, at 2:00 in the morning on the phone. Arranging my fate as if I were a piece of old furniture to be discarded.”
Another long, tense silence.
“Mom, if you overheard something out of context—”
“Out of context? ‘We’re taking her to the nursing home tomorrow. It’s all arranged.’ What context could possibly make those words mean something different?”
“I… we were just exploring options.”
“Without consulting me. We thought it would be for the best.”
“You thought it would be more convenient for you.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then explain it to me, Daniel. Explain how planning to commit your mother without her knowledge is an act of love.”
He couldn’t, because there was no explanation that could justify the unjustifiable.
“I want to see you,” he finally said. “We need to talk in person.”
“I agree. But it will be when I decide, where I decide, and on my terms.”
“When?”
“Soon, son. Very soon. And when we do see each other, you’re going to discover a few things about your poor widowed mother that are going to surprise you very much.”
I hung up before he could respond.
That night, as I had dinner on my terrace under the stars, I called Benjamin.
“How is our project coming along?”
“Better than expected, Margaret. I have some very interesting information about Daniel and Victoria’s finances. Apparently, they’ve been living beyond their means for years.”
“How far beyond?”
“Credit card debt, personal loans, a late mortgage. They’ve been using your presence in the house to justify expenses they can’t afford.”
“Interesting.”
“There’s more. Apparently, Victoria has been telling her friends that you have scenile dementia and that’s why you need special care. She’s been building a narrative to justify the nursing home.”
My blood boiled.
“Do you have proof of that?”
“I’m gathering it, Margaret. When we’re done with this, they are going to regret ever messing with you.”
I hung up with a smile on my lips. Daniel and Victoria had no idea what was coming for them.
A week after moving into the penthouse, I had established my new routine. Breakfast on the terrace, a workout in the building’s gym, afternoons working with Benjamin on our master plan.
For the first time in years, I felt alive, powerful, in control of my destiny.
Daniel had stopped calling after our last conversation. Victoria, on the other hand, had intensified her attempts. Her voicemails revealed a growing desperation.
“Margaret, please come back. Daniel is a mess. He’s barely eating, barely sleeping. This is destroying us as a family.”
As a family. What irony.
“Margaret, I know you’re angry, but running away doesn’t solve anything. We’re adults. We can talk like civilized people.”
Civilized people, like when they were planning to commit me without my consent.