She walked back into the room and caught me holding the application. She didn’t snatch it away. She just straightened her spine, possessing a quiet, heartbreaking dignity. “It’s a lovely facility, Iris. They allow you to keep two flower pots on the balcony.”
Two flower pots. I had purchased her a quarter-acre of premium Ohio soil, and they had violently compressed her universe into two plastic pots.
I folded the application, slid it into the interior pocket of my jacket, directly over my heart, and looked her dead in the eye. “Nobody is leaving this property, Mom. Except the people upstairs.”
Chapter 3: The Surgical Strike
The interior of my rental car felt like an airtight quarantine zone. With the doors locked and the oppressive gravity of Derek’s presence removed, my mother finally shattered. She talked for the entire ten-minute drive to the bank, the dam of silence bursting.
