Chapter 2 - THE SIGNATURE IN THE WAITING ROOM
I stared at the "Residential Occupancy Agreement" under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room. My name was signed at the bottom in blue ink. The loops and angles were perfect. It looked exactly like my handwriting.
But I knew with absolute certainty I had never signed it.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper so I wouldn't wake Frederick, who had finally fallen asleep against Amy’s chest.
Amy wouldn't look at me. Her fingers traced the edge of Frederick’s blue baby blanket. "She gave it to me three days ago," Amy said, her voice shaking. "She told me that if I ever complained to you about her staying in the house, she would show you the agreement."
"But I didn't sign it," I insisted, kneeling in front of her. "Amy, look at me. I didn't sign this."
"She said you did." Amy finally met my eyes, and the sheer exhaustion in them broke my heart. "She said you signed it the week after Frederick was born. She told me you agreed she could stay for three years to 'help' because you didn't think I was capable of being a mother."
A cold wave of nausea washed over me. While I was working sixty-hour weeks to pay the mortgage, my mother was systematically destroying my wife’s confidence, using a forged document to make Amy believe I was complicit.
"She told me to pack my things today," Amy whispered, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes. "She said the party was for Frederick, but I wasn't allowed to be part of it. If I didn't stay in the kitchen, she was going to call the police and show them the contract. She said the house was legally hers now."
"That's not how the law works," I said, anger replacing the shock. I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app, a sudden, terrifying thought striking me. If my mother had forged my signature on a housing agreement, what else had she signed?
I checked our joint savings account. The one we were using for Frederick’s college fund.
The balance was zero.
Thirty-two thousand dollars, gone. Transferred to an account I didn't recognize just forty-eight hours ago.
"Connor?" Amy asked, seeing the blood drain from my face. "What is it?"
Before I could answer, a nurse walked out into the waiting area. "Mr. and Mrs. Bradley? Frederick’s fever is breaking, but the doctor wants to run one more blood test. We need your insurance card."
Amy reached into her purse to get her wallet. She opened it, flipped through the slots, and froze.
She turned the purse upside down. A tube of lip balm, a crumpled tissue, and her house keys fell onto the linoleum floor. But her wallet wasn't there.
"She took it," Amy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Connor, your mother took my wallet from the kitchen counter."
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I picked up Amy's house keys. The silver key ring, the one with the little bear I bought her on our honeymoon, felt heavy in my palm. But something was wrong.
The brass key to our front door was gone.
