I Was Still Away Recovering When My Children Talked About Their “Early Plans” And Selling Everything From The TV To The Beach House. But The Shock Came When The Notary’s Office Called To Inform Them: “The Property Has An Owner – And It’s Not ANYONE IN THE FAMILY.”

He produced a simple smartphone.

“It’s already programmed with my number, Lily’s, and the contact you requested. Basic functions only—large text for easier reading.”

Lily took the phone, showing me how to use the voice command feature that would compensate for my still-clumsy fingers. “I’ll hide it in your water pitcher drawer when I leave,” she whispered.

“The nurses never look there.”

As they prepared to leave, Harold paused. “Victoria, there’s something else you should know. Daniel has been asking questions at the county records office.

Apparently, there’s something unusual about the beach house title that’s delaying the sale.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. So they were discovering that things weren’t as straightforward as they’d assumed. “Good,” I whispered.

After they left, I lay back against the pillows, mental fatigue overwhelming me. The physical effects of the crisis were challenging enough. But this betrayal by my own children cut deeper than anything I could name.

I drifted into an uneasy sleep. Dreams filled with fragmented memories. A promise made years ago.

Richard nodding his approval as I signed papers. The beach house keys being placed in hands that weren’t my children’s. “Mrs.

Sullivan, you have visitors.”

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