Grandma Faked Dementia So My Sister Could Steal My Fiancé. Chapter 03

Grandma Faked Dementia So My Sister Could Steal My Fiancé. Chapter 03

At the medical records desk, the clerk asked how I was related to the patient.

I showed my driver’s license and the HIPAA authorization Grandma had signed when I became one of her authorized caregivers.

“I’m her granddaughter. I’d like copies of her records from the last three years.”

The clerk gave me a quick look but didn’t ask any more questions.

Page after page slid out of the printer.

I sat on a hallway bench and read.

Mild anxiety.

Sleep disturbance.

Panic response after brief episodes of disorientation.

Advised regular sleep schedule; family member to accompany patient to follow-up visits.

No Alzheimer’s disease.

No severe cognitive impairment.

At her most recent visit, the doctor had even noted: Patient alert and communicative. Memory within normal limits. Family appears excessively concerned.

My fingers went cold around the pages.

My family hadn’t been overly concerned.

They’d needed an excuse to keep me tied to the house.

Ethan called around noon.

His voice was gentle as ever.

“Claire, are you busy today?”

“I’m at the hospital.”

He paused. “Is your grandma sick again?”

“I’m picking up some records.”

The line went silent for two seconds.

Barely anything.

But I heard it.

He was nervous.

“What records?”

“Her old follow-up reports.”

“Why do you suddenly want to see them?”

“We’re getting married. I should know what’s actually going on with my family’s health, shouldn’t I?”

He let out a quiet laugh. “You worry too much. Didn’t your mom already go over those?”

I asked, “How do you know that?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, casual as anything, he said, “You told me before.”

I hadn’t.

I’d never told him who picked up Grandma’s records.

I closed my eyes for a second.

“Maybe I did.”

He said, “Want me to come by tonight?”

“No. Grandma’s still unstable.”

“Okay. Don’t wear yourself out.”

There it was again.

I hung up, took photos of every page, and saved them to the cloud.

Then I went to the bank.

I pulled three years’ worth of statements.

The monthly transfers to my parents.

Lily’s tuition payments.

Grandma’s care expenses.

The emergency money I’d sent to help cover Dad’s debts.

By the time I added it all up, even I was stunned by the total.

I hadn’t been living these past few years.

I’d been pouring money into a hole with no bottom.

I went home that afternoon.

Grandma sat on the balcony in the sun, reading glasses perched on her nose, laughing at videos on her phone.

The second she saw me, she flipped her phone facedown and her expression went blank.

She ducked her head and started picking at the hem of her shirt. “Claire… where’s Claire?”

Quite a performance.

If I hadn’t heard her arranging Lily’s date the night before, I might have fallen for it again.

Lily came home late for dinner that night.

She was carrying a cake box.

When she saw me looking, she smiled. “A classmate had a birthday. This was left over.”

The box had the logo of an upscale downtown bakery.

I’d wanted to order from that place for Ethan’s birthday last year.

He’d said it was too expensive and told me not to waste the money.

“Generous classmate.”

Lily’s fingers tightened around the box. “We split it.”

“Oh.”

Then Lily’s phone lit up. I caught Ethan’s name and the message: You home yet?

The last sliver of hope that I was wrong disappeared.

Lily angled her phone away to reply. I pretended not to notice and kept eating.

Diane put a piece of chicken on my plate.

“Your sister’s under a lot of pressure with her thesis. She’s been emotional lately. You’re the older sister. Try to be understanding.”

I looked down at the chicken.

A small, bony wing.

That had always been mine.

Lily always got the breast.

I suddenly realized none of this had gone bad overnight.

They had always been this way.

I just hadn’t wanted to see it.