Chapter 7
Chapter 7
“We need to talk right away.” “Your mother-in-law ran out of her prescription medication.” “Where do we buy the laundry detergent?” “What day does the city pick up the trash bins?” “How do you start the washing machine?” “Please come over tomorrow to help us sort this out.”
Later that evening, a nasty text arrived from Gareth saying, “Since you claim to make so much money now, you should be ashamed for asking me for child support.”
And finally, near midnight, a desperate message appeared on my screen from Gareth: “Abigail, please come back home. Nothing in this house works without you.”
I stared at the glowing phone screen, remembering how Gertrude used to complain that having three children around felt like living in a noisy circus. Now, the only chaotic noise came from their frantic calls. I quietly flipped my phone face down onto the nightstand.
“Are you not scared to ignore his calls, Mom?” Chloe asked softly from her doorway.
“No, sweetie, I am not scared at all,” I replied truthfully.
A few days later, Gareth showed up outside our apartment building to talk to Brendan, asking him to move back into the old house.
“You are a grown young man now, Brendan,” Gareth argued. “You should be living with me, and you could also help me look after your grandmother.”
Brendan looked at his father with complete disappointment. “That is the whole core problem, Dad. I am your son, not Mom’s replacement worker.
“I did not mean it like that,” Gareth tried to backtrack.
“Yes, you did,” Brendan countered firmly. “Do you even know what major exam I am taking next week? Do you know what engineering field I want to study? Do you remember the night Mom asked for a divorce when you told her to take all three of us away?”
Gareth stood silent on the sidewalk, unable to offer a single word of defense.
The final realization hit them a few weeks later when Gertrude suffered a severe blood pressure spike. Gareth called me in a total panic, asking where the health notebook was kept.
“Ask your ten-year-old daughter Paige,” I told him calmly over the phone.
“Ask Paige?” Gareth repeated, completely bewildered. “Why would I ask Paige?”
“Because she is the person who has been recording your mother’s health data every single day for the past two years,” I explained before hanging up.
The next afternoon, Gareth called back with a completely broken voice, having found the notebook in Gertrude’s room. He began reading Paige’s handwritten entries aloud to me over the line, detailing how she had carefully tracked every daily measurement, monitored headache symptoms, and ensured Gertrude took her daily pills.
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Then Gareth reached the very last page, reading the note Paige had written on the morning we moved out.
“I could not take Grandma’s blood pressure today because we are moving to our new home,” Gareth read, his voice cracking with heavy emotion. “I laid out all her pills on the tray so she will not forget them. I hope Grandma is not mad at me, and I am so sorry I cannot be here tomorrow morning.”
