Then came a sound I will never forget.
My mother screamed.
“NO! DON’T OPEN THAT!”
I called the police with shaking hands.
“My elderly mother is locked in her bedroom with my son,” I whispered. “She’s screaming. Please send someone.”
Then I grabbed my car keys.
I don’t remember driving. I only remember arriving outside my mother’s house and seeing Daniel’s car in the driveway.
The front door was locked.
“Daniel!” I shouted, pounding on it. “OPEN THIS DOOR!”
A moment later, he appeared.
“Mom? What’s going on?”
“Where’s Grandma?”
“She’s upstairs.”
“Get out of my way!”
I pushed past him and ran toward the bedroom.
My mother was sitting on the edge of her bed, clutching a framed photograph of my father.
Her face was wet with tears.
Beside her lay the open black bag.
Inside were family photographs, a small notebook, several envelopes, and a thick folder marked with the name of a medical clinic.
