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What they didn’t realize was that comfort had made them lazy, complacent. They had stopped paying attention to the details, like the fact that the house was still in my name only. When Robert died, I had refused to put it in joint ownership with anyone.
It was my security, my safety net. Abram had tried to convince me to add his name to the deed several times over the years, but I had always declined, claiming it was too complicated. They thought I was being sentimental.
The money was already in an account they couldn’t access. When they tried to put me in that nursing home, they would discover they had no home to inherit, no mortgage to worry about, no equity to cash out. The irony was delicious.
I had also transferred all my savings to a new bank across town, one where Abram had never been listed as a co-signer. Every penny I had saved over 30 years of nursing was now safely out of their reach. The account they thought they could drain contained exactly $12.37, just enough to buy a cup of coffee and a newspaper.
The jewelry box in my hands contained the only valuables I was taking with me. my wedding ring from Robert. A simple gold band that had cost him two months salary.
The pearl earrings my mother had given me before she died. A silver locket with Abrams baby picture inside from back when he loved me unconditionally. I lifted the locket, opening it to look at the tiny photograph.
He had been such a beautiful baby with chubby cheeks and bright eyes full of wonder. I used to rock him to sleep every night singing lullabies. my own mother had sung to me.
He would wrap his little fingers around mine and look up at me like I was the most important person in the world. When had that changed? When had I become the enemy instead of the woman who had given him everything?
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