Chapter 3 - The Doctor They Chose for Me
I didn’t cancel Monday’s appointment.
That surprised Elaine.
“Why would you go?”
“Because they expect me not to know.”
She studied me.
Then smiled slowly.
“You want to see how far this goes.”
Exactly.
Monday morning, I drove to the memory clinic.
Arthur came with me but stayed in the lobby.
At reception, the woman behind the desk smiled.
“Mrs. Hartman?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve been expecting you.”
Apparently everyone had except me.
The doctor was named Dr. Philip Moran.
He was polite.
Too polite.
He asked whether I had forgotten appointments recently.
“No.”
Misplaced keys?
“Sometimes. I’m sixty-four, not a machine.”
Difficulty managing bills?
“No.”
Any family concerns?
“Yes.”
He leaned forward.
“What kind?”
“My son and daughter-in-law are trying to convince people I’m incompetent so they can take my house.”
Dr. Moran’s pen stopped.
That answer had not been expected.
“I see.”
“Do you?”
He shifted.
“Your son reported several incidents.”
“What incidents?”
He consulted the file.
Leaving appliances on.
Getting lost driving.
Repeating questions.
Falling twice.
I almost laughed.
None had happened.
“Who provided those reports?”
“Your son.”
“May I see them?”
He hesitated.
That mattered.
“Lisa, sometimes family members notice changes before the individual does.”
“And sometimes family members lie.”
I took Elaine’s card from my purse.
“My attorney will be requesting the full file.”
Dr. Moran’s posture changed instantly.
He became much more careful.
“We haven’t reached any conclusions.”
“Good.”
Then I noticed something beside his computer.
A sticky note.
SARAH COLLINS - CALL AFTER APPT.
I pointed at it.
“Why are you calling my daughter-in-law?”
His face tightened.
“She scheduled the consultation.”
“Without my permission.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“This appointment is over.”
He rose too.
“Mrs. Hartman, I think—”
“No.”
For months, people had treated that word like the beginning of a negotiation.
It wasn’t anymore.
Outside, Arthur asked what happened.
“They made up symptoms.”
His face darkened.
“David too?”
“Yes.”
He looked genuinely disappointed.
David had been ten when my husband died.
Arthur had taught him how to use power tools.
How to change a tire.
How to build a bookshelf.
He loved my son too.
“That boy has lost his damn mind.”
My phone rang before we reached the parking lot.
Sarah.
I answered.
“What?”
Her voice was sweet.
“Just checking how your appointment went.”
I almost admired the nerve.
“Beautifully.”
Pause.
“What did the doctor say?”
“That my attorney will contact him.”
Silence.
Then the sweetness disappeared.
“You brought a lawyer into this?”
“You forged a deed.”
She stopped breathing.
That was confirmation enough.
“Lisa—”
“I’m done talking.”
“Wait.”
“No.”
I ended the call.
Arthur and I drove home.
A sedan was parked across the street.
Dark blue.
Engine running.
When our car entered the driveway, the sedan pulled away.
Arthur frowned.
“Know them?”
“No.”
That afternoon, Elaine called.
Dr. Moran’s office had already sent copies of everything.
The file contained multiple emails from Sarah.
But one message had come from David.
The subject line read:
MOM’S CONDITION - URGENT.
Elaine read part of it aloud.
“My mother has become increasingly suspicious, hostile and financially reckless. I’m afraid someone may be influencing her.”
Someone.
Arthur.
They were setting him up as the manipulator.
But another attachment was even stranger.
David had included a photograph.
It showed Arthur entering my house late at night.
The timestamp was from two weeks earlier.
Arthur had never visited me that night.
Because he had been in Florida.
May you like
The picture had been altered.
And whoever created it had access to footage from my front security camera.
