Then came a sound I will never forget.
My mother screamed.
“NO! DON’T OPEN THAT!”
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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.
“Mom!” I cried, kneeling beside her. “Did he hurt you?”
She looked at me with frightened eyes.
“Margaret?”
“Yes, Mom. It’s me.”
For a moment, she seemed confused.
Then she whispered something that broke my heart.
“Where’s your father? He was just here.”
My father had been dead for six years.
I turned toward Daniel.
“What have you done to her?”
His face crumpled.
“Mom, please listen.”
“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!”
That’s when the police arrived.
Two officers entered the bedroom. Daniel immediately stepped aside.
I pointed toward him.
“He locks her in here every night! She’s terrified of him!”
One officer spoke gently to my mother.
“Ma’am, are you safe? Has anyone hurt you?”
She stared at him.
