By the time I got home after a year of deployment, it seemed like half the neighborhood knew my mother had dementia. I didn’t hear this from a doctor, but from my wife whom I overheard telling our neighbor, Mrs. Calder, how my mom’s health deteriorated and how things got to the point she started harming herself.
At the time, my wife sounded concerned and as someone who who had been trying for months to handle what sounded like one hell of a situation. Then I heard banging upstairs and my mother calling my name.
I had not even gotten my suitcases unloaded yet.
Laura pulled me in for a hug, and before I could ask anything, she began explaining how mom had been forgetful. There had been accidents, strange behavior, wandering around, and even cases of her injuring herself. Laura said that she was trying her best, and that she already arranged for a psychiatric evaluation because things were getting worse.
There was something about the entire situation that did not seem right. Perhaps it was the way Laura continued speaking without giving me time to ask any questions, or perhaps it was the sound of my mother beating on the door. I wondered why her door was locked, to which Laura immediately responded that it was to keep her safe, because at times, she gets confused and tries to leave the house.
Once Mrs. Calder left, I asked Laura for the key and went to check on my mother who was sitting in the room in the dark. My mom seemed to be in the same clothes for days. What caught my attention right away were the bruises on her wrists, and she didn’t look like she was lost in her own world, she was well aware where she was and who I was. Honestly, she even seemed angry.
She told me that she wasn’t going mad and she didn’t forget things, but the moment she heard footsteps, she stopped talking and just whispered that we’d talk later because Laura was there listening.
What she said bothered me even more than the bruises.
The dinner that night was very weird. All Laura spoke about was doctors’ visits and the difficulties she had experienced. She talked about guardianship papers and power of attorney as if they were just things responsible people took care of. I listened to her and expressed gratitude. I thanked Laura for having taken care of my mother when I was away. She was glad that I did not have any doubts.
She knew nothing about the years of financial crimes investigation that I had done before becoming a soldier.
Later that night, when she was sleeping, I started looking into the case. The surveillance video had been erased; but not completely. I managed to look at the access log, and all the deletions were made from Laura’s laptop. I discovered Mom’s bank information had been rerouted to Laura’s email account, and there was a transfer request sitting there waiting to go through.
It was enough to realize that something fishy was going on.
Before going to bed, I put a recorder under the kitchen table. Then I went upstairs and unlocked Mom’s room. I told her I needed her help. The next day, I wanted her to act confused.
The following day, she did such a wonderful job that I almost laughed seeing her staring at the toaster and asking ridiculous questions with Laura looking happy. At one moment, Mom dropped sugar and Laura grasped her wrist until it got marks and then looked at me as if she had done something wonderful.
After Mom went upstairs, Laura showed me paperwork for the evaluation she’d arranged. She then suggested selling Mom’s house and use the money to pay for the facility she wanted to lock her in.
When I pointed out that Mom’s house was already paid off, Laura smiled and said that was exactly why it made sense.
I spent the next few days making some phone calls. A friend of mine informed me that there were copied signatures in the paperwork that was dealing with Mom’s money. The locksmith confirmed that the lock for the bedroom could be opened from the outside only. The doctor took pictures of the bruises on her. Then Mom remembered something my father had installed years ago after a series of break-ins.
Hidden away in his desk was an old camera system nobody remembered except him and Mom.
Laura had disabled the visible cameras but never found that one.
Seeing the video made me feel ill. She was forcing my mother into the corridor, taking her phone away. Seeing her preparing some stories before neighbors came over. Then something else caught my eye, something unexpected. It was Victor Hale, a local developer. He was sitting in the kitchen talking about mom’s property. They were saying how they would wait until she gets declared incompetent and then sell it all easily.
Then Laura kissed him.
At that point, I started thinking not as a husband but as an investigator.
I sent everything to the right people – one copy to the elder abuse unit detective Ruiz, the other one to Dr. Shaw, a psychiatrist Laura had picked herself. And then I continued playing my part.
Perhaps that’s what made her slip up.
Over dinner she had a few too many and started letting things slip. She complained that Mom had always hated her and laughed about how nobody would ever believe an old woman who’d already been labeled unstable. According to Laura, by the next day there would be a medical report to back up everything she’d been telling people. She seemed incredibly proud of herself.
The next morning she got dressed up for the appointment and spent the entire drive telling Mom exactly how to answer the questions. Mom barely said a word. She just sat quietly in the back seat.
When we got there, Laura handed Dr. Shaw the folder she’d spent months putting together. I handed her another one.
The actual evaluation didn’t take long. Mom handled every question perfectly. She remembered dates, medications, addresses, and family details that I probably would’ve messed up myself. Laura kept breaking in, insisting Mom had just memorized everything. Eventually, Dr. Shaw asked a simple question about why a supposedly confused woman had been locked inside a room that only opened from the outside.
Laura looked at me, waiting for me to back her up. Instead, I played the recording from beneath the kitchen table.
The look on her face changed instantly.
Things moved fast after that. Detective Ruiz stepped in, more evidence came out, and Laura went from angry to terrified in a matter of minutes. She blamed stress, the alcohol, Victor, and eventually Mom herself. None of it mattered.
Mom was declared completely competent. Laura and Victor were arrested, the accounts were frozen, and every document tied to Mom’s property was thrown out.
The divorce was straightforward. There really wasn’t much left to fight over.
These days, Mom uses that old bedroom as a reading room. She painted the walls herself and keeps Dad’s picture by the window. Sometimes I catch her sitting there with a book and a cup of tea, and it’s hard to believe what that room used to be.
A few months before I went back to duty, I walked into the kitchen and found her baking a lemon pie. I asked her if she was still confused, and she just laughed.
She said she’d mostly forgotten why she’d spent so much time being afraid.
And honestly, just hearing her laugh again was enough for me.
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Bored Daddy
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