PART 1
“Your mother is stuck in a hospital bed for ten days and you are seriously going to leave that gorgeous apartment sitting empty? What an absolute waste!”
Those were the very first words out of my husband’s mouth as the paramedics carefully carried my mother down the flight of stairs. He did not ask if I was okay, nor did he ask if my mother was in pain.
My mother, Irene, had been doubled over for nearly an hour with excruciating, sharp pains just beneath her ribs. She was ghostly pale, sweating profusely, and could barely gasp out a coherent sentence. I held her bag of medical documents tightly while one of the paramedics explained that we needed to get her to the emergency room immediately.
My husband, Brandon, was still standing lazily by the open front door without a hint of concern on his face.
“Claire… what about dinner?” he called out casually.
I stared at him in utter disbelief, wondering if I had somehow misheard his selfish question.
“There are enchiladas in the refrigerator,” I snapped back, adjusting my coat. “Put them in the microwave and press start, because I trust you can survive on your own for one night.”
I slammed the door behind me and ran down the stairs to follow the ambulance.
After several agonizing hours of blood tests, medication, and thorough examinations, the attending physician finally reassured us. My mother had a severe case of gallbladder inflammation, and while she did not need emergency surgery right away, she would have to stay admitted in the hospital for at least ten days.
When I was finally able to sit down in the quiet waiting area, my phone began to vibrate. It was my mother-in-law, Gertrude.
“Oh, sweet Claire, what a terrible tragedy,” Gertrude said, her voice dripping with dramatic sympathy. “Brandon already filled me in on everything, so how is poor Irene doing?”
Her selfless concern lasted for exactly twenty seconds before her true motives emerged.
“So… what is going to happen with her apartment while she is stuck there?” she asked smoothly.
I felt a sudden, icy chill creep down my spine as I listened to her voice.
My mother lived alone in a spacious, light-filled three-bedroom apartment in the charming Historic District of Richmond. The place had massive windows overlooking a lush green park, and she had just spent her entire life savings remodeling every single room. Gertrude had always envied that apartment and talked about it far too much.
“The apartment is locked up,” I replied guardedly.
“Do you have the spare keys with you?” Gertrude inquired.
“Yes, I do,” I said, keeping my answers as brief as possible.
There was an odd, calculating silence on the other end of the line.
“I am only asking because empty apartments get pipe leaks or attract burglars,” Gertrude claimed smoothly. “It would be much better if someone stayed there to keep an eye on things.”
I knew right then that she did not care about pipe leaks or burglars at all.
On Saturday morning, Brandon woke up with an unusual burst of energy that he never displayed for his actual job.
“Your mom has that massive, beautiful apartment sitting completely empty over in Richmond,” he said casually while I poured myself a cup of coffee. “Someone really ought to go over there and check on it.”
“I am already planning to go check on it,” I replied, setting the coffeepot down.
“No, I mean… someone should actually stay there for a few days,” he clarified with a tight smile.
I set my coffee cup down on the table and looked him straight in the eyes.
“Who exactly are you talking about, Brandon?” I asked sharply.
Brandon suddenly found the kitchen floor extremely fascinating and avoided looking at me.
“Well, my mom has been having trouble breathing lately,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “She claims there is way too much dust and noise in her current neighborhood, whereas the air over by the park is much cleaner.”
I stared at him in total shock, unable to comprehend his sheer audacity.
“Are you honestly suggesting that your mother move into my mom’s apartment while she is suffering in a hospital bed?” I asked, my voice rising.
“Not to live there permanently!” he protested quickly. “Just to rest for a little while, and besides, she could even clean the place up for your mom.”
“Absolutely not,” I said firmly.
“Claire, please be reasonable…” he began to plead.
“No,” I cut him off coldly. “It is my mother’s home, not a free hotel for your family.”
Brandon made the same childish, pouting face he always made whenever he did not get his way, then locked himself in the bedroom to talk on the phone.
I visited my mother on Sunday afternoon, and she was already feeling much better and complaining about the bland hospital food.
“Tomorrow, when you get off work, please swing by my place,” she requested gently. “Bring me the paperback novel on my nightstand and the blue folder where I keep my utility receipts.”
“I promise I will bring them tomorrow evening,” I assured her before giving her a hug.
That night, as I walked into our hallway after grabbing takeout, a small detail caught my attention. The wooden owl keyring was missing from the small entryway cabinet where we kept extra household items. That was where I kept the spare key to my mother’s apartment.
I marched directly into the living room to confront Brandon.
“Where are the keys to my mother’s apartment?” I demanded.
“Which keys are you talking about?” he asked, trying to sound completely innocent.
“Do not play mind games with me, Brandon,” I warned him.
He let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the couch.
“Fine, I grabbed them because I went over there to air out the rooms for a little bit,” he claimed.
“Give them back to me right now,” I said, extending my hand.
“I will give them to you tomorrow,” he grumbled.
I stepped over to his jacket hanging on the chair and checked the pocket where he claimed he had put them, but it was entirely empty. At that exact moment, the full reality of the situation hit me. Brandon had not gone over there to air out any rooms. He had stolen the key and handed it directly to his mother.
While my mother was lying in a hospital bed, my mother-in-law was likely walking through her private home as if she owned the place.
I did not scream at him, nor did I start a massive argument. I simply walked into the bathroom, turned on the sink faucet so Brandon would not hear me, and searched for a specific phone number.
There was only one person in this world whom Gertrude feared more than a lawsuit or a bank debt. That person was her opinionated sister-in-law, Aunt Beatrice.
I dialed the number and waited as it rang.
“Hello?” a booming voice answered.
I smiled wickedly to myself in the bathroom mirror.
“Aunt Beatrice, it is Claire,” I said sweetly. “I think I just found you a completely free place to stay in town.”
There was a sudden silence on the other end of the line before a loud laugh echoed through the speaker.
“Did you say free lodging, sweetie?” Aunt Beatrice asked with great delight.
“Gertrude is going to be staying at another apartment for a while, so her place is left completely unattended,” I explained carefully.
“And her entire house is just sitting there empty?” Aunt Beatrice asked.
“Completely empty,” I confirmed.
“Oh, God really does help those who help themselves!” Aunt Beatrice cheered. “I actually have to travel into town tomorrow anyway.”
“That is perfect timing,” I replied. “Do you still happen to have those spare house keys Gertrude left with you two years ago?”
Aunt Beatrice paused for a couple of seconds as she thought about it.
“I still have them right here in my purse,” she declared triumphantly.
“Then everything is resolved,” I said, holding back a laugh.
“I am bringing my adult son, Toby, along with me because he is looking for work in the city,” she added.
“Of course, bring him along,” I agreed readily. “Just remember that Gertrude must not know you have arrived until you are fully settled in because I want to give her a big surprise.”
“You can leave everything to me, darling,” she promised before hanging up.
PART 2
Aunt Beatrice lived out in the countryside near Culpeper and was precisely the kind of overwhelming person Gertrude could not stand. She spoke loudly, asked intrusive questions about everything, touched personal belongings, and had a habit of arriving for two days and staying for two full weeks. Whenever she traveled into the city to sell her homemade preserves and fresh produce, she brought enough massive bags to supply an entire restaurant. Three years ago, she had stayed at Gertrude’s house for a single weekend, and Gertrude still talked about it as if she had survived a natural disaster.
On Monday morning, before heading into my office, I drove over to the regional bus terminal. Aunt Beatrice was already waiting for me on the curb surrounded by three massive sacks, two wooden boxes, a sealed plastic bucket, and her thirty-year-old son, Toby, who looked strong enough to lift a vehicle by himself.
“What do you have inside that giant sack?” I asked, pointing to the largest bag.
“Fifty pounds of fresh onions!” Aunt Beatrice announced proudly.
“And inside the sealed bucket?” I asked carefully.
“Pickled hot peppers in vinegar,” she beamed.
I decided it was much wiser not to ask any more questions about her luggage.
At noon, I sent Brandon a quick text message from my desk.
“Today, at six o’clock, I am going to my mother’s apartment to pick up her blue folder and her paperback novel.”
He replied in less than twenty seconds.
“Do not bother going over there. I will go pick them up and bring them to you later.”
“Thank you, but I prefer to go myself,” I replied instantly.
My cell phone immediately started ringing with his incoming call, but I simply ignored it and let it ring.
At twenty minutes to six, I arrived at my mother’s apartment building in the Historic District. I walked up to the third floor and unlocked the front door using my original spare key, a copy that Brandon had no idea existed.
Before I even stepped across the threshold, I smelled a sickeningly sweet floral perfume that confirmed Gertrude was inside. Loud classical music was playing from the stereo in the living room, and I spotted two large open suitcases sitting right in the middle of the hallway.
I walked straight into the main bedroom and had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming.
My mother’s personal clothes were piled up in messy heaps on top of the bed. Her delicate dresses had been pulled off their hangers, and in their place hung bright blouses, sequined jackets, and Gertrude’s colorful designer dresses. Gertrude herself was wearing a velvet tracksuit while aggressively emptying my mother’s vanity drawers.
“Good afternoon, Gertrude,” I said coolly from the doorway.
She jumped in surprise, clutching her chest.
“Claire! What on earth are you doing here?” she gasped, clutching her heart.
“I could ask you the exact same question,” I replied calmly.
Gertrude quickly recovered her usual arrogance and straightened her back.
“Brandon gave me explicit permission to stay here,” she declared smoothly.
“Brandon is not the owner of this apartment,” I reminded her sharpely.
“Oh, please do not exaggerate,” Gertrude scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. “Irene is stuck in a hospital bed, so leaving this place empty was a complete waste. Besides, I desperately need some peace and quiet for my lungs.”
I gestured to the piles of clothes scattered all over the bed.
“Why did you strip my mother’s personal belongings out of her own closet?” I asked.
Gertrude made a contemptuous gesture with her hands.
“Because her things take up far too much closet space,” she answered casually. “I was planning to put her clothes into cardboard boxes and store them in the basement locker so I could be comfortable while staying here.”
Then she uttered a sentence that made my blood run cold.
“Besides, Claire, we have to be practical adults here,” she said condescendingly. “Your mother is getting quite old, and nobody knows how much longer she will even be able to live alone in a place like this.”
I stood completely motionless in the center of the room. My mother had been hospitalized for merely three days, and this ruthless woman was already speaking about her home as if she were waiting to claim an inheritance.
“Is that honestly how you see things?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
“Do not be so dramatic,” Gertrude snapped, turning back to the closet. “Just gather your mother’s stupid paperwork and leave, because Brandon is waiting for his dinner.”
I pulled my smartphone out of my coat pocket.
“First, I want to show you a quick video clip,” I said smoothly.
I opened a short video message that Aunt Beatrice had sent me just twenty minutes prior and turned the volume all the way up. Aunt Beatrice’s smiling face filled the screen, and behind her, I immediately recognized Gertrude’s decorated living room.
“Claire, sweetie! We made it inside!” Aunt Beatrice’s loud voice boomed from the speaker. “Please tell Gertrude thank you so much for letting us stay at her lovely house!”
