The camp was four hours away, and Nate, my husband, couldn’t leave work. So, we decided that I would take the kids, drop them off, spend a night at a motel, and then drive back the next day.
I had left Mom in Nate’s care, trusting him to watch her while I was gone.
But that trust was shattered the second I got the call.
When the police pulled up to our house on the fourth morning, my heart leapt to my throat. I rushed to the window, seeing them guide my mother out of the backseat.
Relief washed over me, but when I glanced at Nate, his reaction wasn’t what I expected at all.
Instead of looking relieved or glad, he looked… nervous.
The unease settled in my stomach like a rock. But I pushed it down, chalking up Nate’s behavior to guilt as well. He was probably stewing in his own guilt. He was supposed to be watching over Mom, but she had escaped on his watch.
“I’ll deal with him later,” I muttered.
Nate needed to know that as terrified as I had been, I didn’t blame him. My mom was losing hold of her mind, and this was an accident.
I threw the door open just as the officers helped my mother up the steps. She looked disheveled, her clothes rumpled and her hair wild. Tears stung my eyes as I hugged her, the smell of the outdoors and three days of unwashed fear clinging to her.
“Claire-bear,” she said, calling me by the name she used my entire childhood. “Where have you been, baby? I was waiting all alone for you!”
“Mom, where did you go?” I whispered, holding her tight.
But she barely acknowledged my words. Instead, she was staring over my shoulder, her eyes fixed on Nate.
“Mom?” I said, stepping back. “Talk to me?”
“You need to arrest him,” she said, her voice thin but sure.
It felt like the air was sucked out of the room. Even the police officers exchanged glances, unsure of what to do.
“What?” I asked. “Mom? Nate? What are you talking about?”
She kept pointing but turned to look at me. That’s when it hit me—she wasn’t having an Alzheimer’s moment. She was lucid. The look in her eyes made that clear.
“Three days ago,” she started to say. “I saw him. I saw Nate in your bedroom with a woman.”
“What?” I whispered again.
“I heard voices upstairs,” she said. “But I forgot that you and the kids were gone. So, I thought that it was the kids playing. I just wanted to see what they were doing.”
“Claire, she’s confused. You know how your mom is. She’s probably remembering something from years ago…”
But Mom shook her head, her eyes wide and wild.
“No! I saw you! And I asked you to explain yourself. You tried to make me feel like I was stupid, Nathan! And you said that the woman was a homeless person who you were helping out for the night. Which homeless person wears red-bottomed shoes? And you told me to get out!”
“Mom, what do you mean he told you to get out?” I asked.
“I didn’t know where I was!” she cried, tears now spilling down her face. “He told me that I didn’t live there. That I lived with you and the kids, and this wasn’t your home! He said I had to leave. I thought he was right… I was terrified.”
The living room was silent, save for Mom’s ragged breathing.
