“Would you also like to update the healthcare proxy form Mr. Holloway filed last fall?”
While my mother was floating on heavy narcotics in the post-op recovery ward, Derek had slipped a pen into her hand and legally seized control of her medical decisions. We voided it instantly, executing a fresh proxy right there in the car with a mobile notary.
As we drove back toward Maplewood Court, my mother stared out the passenger window. “He wasn’t always a monster, Iris. He used to carry my groceries when he was a little boy.”
“I know, Mom,” I replied, staring at the road ahead. “And I am not punishing the nine-year-old boy who carried your groceries. I am stopping the grown man who stole your bedroom.”
