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My Wife Called Mom Demented—Then I Found the Hidden Key / Chapter 3 / 7

Chapter 3 — My Wife Called Mom Demented—Then I Found the Hidden Key

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“You told me she was sleeping.”

“She probably was earlier.”

“The note has the date.”

“She can write any date she wants.”

My mother leaned back against the wall.

“That is why she started telling everyone before you came home.”

I turned toward her.

Margaret’s voice remained steady.

“At first she only said it to me.

She’d tell me I had forgotten something I knew had never happened.

Then she started saying it to neighbors.

After that, every disagreement became evidence.”

Lila shook her head.

“This is exactly what I meant.

She has built an entire conspiracy around me.”

Margaret ignored her.

“She wanted me gone before you returned.”

There it was.

The simplest motive often hides beneath the most elaborate story.

Lila did not need my mother to actually have dementia.

She only needed everyone to believe it long enough for Margaret’s own words to become useless.

I sat beside my mother on the mattress.

“What happened six weeks ago?”

Margaret looked toward Lila.

My wife’s jaw tightened.

“We argued,” Margaret said.

“Lila told me that when you returned, things were going to change.

She said this was supposed to be your marriage, not a house with your mother in the middle of it.”

“That is not what I said.”

“You said I had overstayed my welcome.”

“You had.”

The words escaped before Lila could catch them.

Everything stopped.

Lila realized it too late.

Margaret looked down.

I asked, “So this wasn’t about dementia?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You just said she had overstayed her welcome.”

“Both things can be true.”

My mother lifted her head again.

“She wanted me to agree to leave.

I told her I would discuss it with you when you came home.

The next week, she started taking my phone at night.

Then she started locking the door.”

Lila stepped forward.

“Because you tried to leave the house alone.”

“I walked to the mailbox.”

“You disappeared.”

“For seven minutes.”

I looked at Lila.

“You told me she was wandering?”

“She was.”

“To the mailbox?”

“She’s minimizing it.”

I felt the anger finally arriving, but anger was not useful yet.

Questions were useful.