Chapter 3 - WHAT ANDREW SAW THROUGH THE GLASS
Paramedics arrived within twelve minutes.
They moved Margaret from the old wheelchair onto a medical stretcher.
Andrew remained beside her.
Natalie attempted to explain the situation to them.
“She refuses food.”
Margaret’s eyelids moved.
“She hides her medication.”
One paramedic examined the empty glass.
“Where is her medication now?”
Natalie pointed toward the main house.
“In the locked cabinet.”
“Why is the patient locked in a storage room?”
Natalie looked at Andrew.
“It was temporary.”
Andrew walked back to the wooden door.
The small glass panel was dirty on the inside.
Finger marks covered it.
His mother had repeatedly placed her hand against the glass.
Below the panel were faint scratches in the wood.
Not random scratches.
Letters.
A.
N.
D.
R.
E.
W.
Margaret had tried to write his name.
Andrew touched the marks.
Behind him, a paramedic spoke quietly.
“Mr. Wilson, your mother is severely dehydrated.”
Andrew turned.
“How severely?”
“Enough that she needs immediate hospital care.”
Natalie stepped forward.
“She drank this morning.”
The paramedic looked at Margaret’s dry lips.
“That is not consistent with her condition.”
Andrew’s eyes moved toward the plate.
One piece of bread.
No fruit.
No proper meal.
Nothing suitable for a frail seventy-eight-year-old woman.
As the stretcher passed through the doorway, the corner of Margaret’s cardigan lifted.
Andrew saw a dark mark on her wrist.
He stopped the paramedics.
“What is that?”
Natalie answered before Margaret could.
“She bruises easily.”
Andrew gently lifted his mother’s sleeve.
Finger-shaped marks circled her wrist.
Someone had held her tightly.
Margaret turned her face away.
Andrew looked at Natalie.
“Did you do this?”
“Of course not.”
“Then who did?”
“She fights when I try to help her.”
Margaret’s eyes opened.
“I don’t fight.”
Her voice was barely audible.
Natalie’s flawless expression cracked.
Only for a second.
But Andrew saw it.
The paramedics took Margaret toward the ambulance.
Andrew picked up the old family photograph from the table.
Its wooden frame felt unusually heavy.
A corner of the backing had been torn away.
Something small moved inside it.
Before he could examine it, Natalie reached for the frame.
“That should stay here.”
Andrew pulled it away.
“It belongs to my mother.”
“It is only an old photograph.”
“Then why do you want it?”
Natalie lowered her hand.
Andrew carried the photograph and his briefcase outside.
As Margaret was placed inside the ambulance, she looked at the frame.
“Don’t let her take it.”
Andrew climbed in beside her.
The ambulance doors closed.
Through the rear window, he saw Natalie standing beneath the mansion lights.
May you like
She was no longer pretending to be concerned.
She was staring at the photograph in his hands.
