“You need to be careful, Mom,” she whispered. “People misunderstand things.”
Before I could respond, the door opened again.
This time, it wasn’t just a nurse.
Two police officers stepped inside.
Behind them, a man in a dark suit holding a leather folder.
Andrew Collins.
Sophie froze.
Her face drained of color.
“Mrs. Parker,” one officer said gently, “we need to ask you a few questions.”
Sophie stepped forward quickly.
“This is unnecessary. My mother is confused—”
“She’s not confused,” Andrew said calmly.
“She contacted me.”
The room went still.
Sophie turned toward him, disbelief breaking across her face.
“That’s not possible.”
But her voice had lost its certainty.
Andrew opened his folder, laying out documents—clean, precise, undeniable.
“Actually,” he said, “it is.”
The officer looked at me again.
“Mrs. Parker, do you feel safe going home with your daughter?”
I looked at Sophie.
At the woman she had become.
At everything she had taken, believing I would never fight back.
This time, I didn’t hesitate.
“No.”
The word filled the room.
Strong. Certain.
Sophie stepped back like she’d been struck.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing,” she said, panic creeping in. “This is a misunderstanding—”
“It’s over, Sophie,” Andrew said quietly.
And in that moment, everything she had built began to fall apart.
