Chapter 3: The Plan to Get Rid of Me
I read the document three times.
Then I read it a fourth.
The language was cold, clinical, and disturbingly specific.
It described a proposed arrangement in which I would move into a long-term assisted-living facility while Linda retained control of the household finances and property.
Jasmine would receive continued financial support.
The house would eventually be sold.
The proceeds would be divided according to an arrangement that had never been discussed with me.
There was even a section describing my expected monthly care expenses.
I looked at the date.
The document had been drafted five months earlier.
Five months.
That meant Linda and Jasmine had begun planning my removal while I was still learning how to transfer from my hospital bed into a wheelchair.
I called Robert.
“Is this legal?””
“Not without your consent and the appropriate legal authority.””
“Can they force me into a facility?””
“Not simply because they want you there. We need to review the circumstances and any documents you signed. But Marcus, I want you to understand something.””
“What?””
“Don't confront them with everything yet. We need evidence.””
I stared at the document.
“I spent eleven years building a family with these people.””
“I know.””
“I saved Jasmine's life.””
“I know that too.””
“And now they want to put me somewhere so they can sell my house?””
Robert paused.
“Let's establish exactly what they've done before deciding what comes next.””
I agreed.
But I knew one thing.
I wasn't going anywhere.
That evening, Jasmine arrived at 6:40 p.m.
She wore a cream-colored designer jacket, black trousers, and sunglasses pushed onto her head.
She carried two shopping bags and walked into the kitchen without greeting me.
“Mom?””
“I'm here, sweetheart.””
Linda appeared from the pantry.
“Did you get everything?””
“Almost. I couldn't find the exact handbag I wanted.””
Jasmine placed the bags on the counter.
Then she noticed me sitting near the dining room.
“Oh. You're here.””
I looked at her.
“It's my house.””
She rolled her eyes.
“Can we not start?””
Linda hurried over.
“Everyone, please. Let's have dinner first.””
We sat at the same oak table where Jasmine had insulted me two nights earlier.
This time, I didn't touch my food.
Jasmine unfolded a napkin.
“So, Marcus, Mom told me you've been difficult.””
I raised an eyebrow.
“Did she?””
“She said you're refusing to consider my situation.””
“What situation?””
“My apartment.””
“What's wrong with it?””
“It's expensive.””
“You chose it.””
“I was younger.””
“You're twenty-four.””
She gave me an irritated look.
“Can you stop talking to me like I'm a child?””
“Then stop asking me to finance your life like one.””
Linda put down her fork.
“Marcus!””
Jasmine's eyes widened.
“Excuse me?””
I kept my voice calm.
“I reviewed my bank statements. I've been sending your company seven thousand five hundred dollars every month.””
She glanced at Linda.
It was brief.
But I saw it.
“That's different,” she said.
“How?””
“It's business.””
“What business?””
“My company.””
“What does it do?””
She folded her arms.
“Lifestyle consulting.””
I nodded slowly.
“Interesting.””
“What's that supposed to mean?””
“It means I would like to see the business records.””
Jasmine laughed.
“You're not my accountant.””
“No. I'm your largest investor.””
“You're not an investor. Mom said it was family support.””
I looked at Linda.
Linda stared at her plate.
“Did you tell her that?””
She didn't answer.
Jasmine leaned forward.
“Look, Marcus, you've always had money. You don't understand what it's like trying to build something at my age.””
I almost smiled.
“You're right. I don't understand what it's like receiving thousands of dollars every month without being expected to explain where it goes.””
“That's unfair!””
“Then show me the accounts.””
She slammed her hand on the table.
“I'm done being interrogated!””
Linda reached for her daughter's hand.
“Sweetheart, calm down.””
Then she turned toward me.
“Marcus, this isn't the right way to handle things. Jasmine is under pressure.””
“And I'm not?””
Linda sighed.
“You know what I mean.””
“No, I really don't.””
Jasmine pushed her chair back.
“Mom, tell him about the plan.””
Linda froze.
I looked between them.
“What plan?””
Jasmine glanced at her mother.
Linda swallowed.
“We were going to discuss it with you tonight.””
“Discuss what?””
Linda placed both hands on the table.
“Marcus, we've been thinking about your long-term care.””
I waited.
She continued.
“I know you don't like hearing this, but your recovery is taking a long time. It's becoming increasingly difficult to manage the house.””
“I have a rehabilitation schedule. I have home assistance available when necessary. What's the problem?””
“You need more care.””
“According to whom?””
“Your wife!””
I looked directly at her.
“Have you spoken to my doctor?””
She hesitated.
“Not recently.””
“Then how do you know what I need?””
Jasmine interrupted.
“Because we live with you!””
I turned toward her.
“You've spent more nights at your apartment than here over the past six months.””
She went quiet.
Linda quickly intervened.
“That's not the point.””
“Then tell me the point.””
She took a breath.
“We found a very nice assisted-living facility outside the city. It has excellent medical staff, physical therapy, and recreational activities.””
I stared at her.
“You found me a nursing facility?””
“It's not a nursing home. It's a residential rehabilitation community.””
“Did I ask you to find one?””
“No, but—”
“Did my doctor recommend it?””
Linda looked down.
Jasmine spoke up.
“Marcus, stop making this difficult. It's a practical solution.””
“A practical solution for whom?””
“For everyone!””
I looked at Linda.
“Is that what you want?””
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she said something that changed how I remembered every moment of our marriage.
“I just want my life back.””
The room went still.
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?””
Linda's eyes filled with tears.
“I didn't sign up for this, Marcus. I married a man who was active, independent, and full of life. I never imagined spending my middle years caring for someone who needs help with everything.””
I felt my throat tighten.
“You married me because you loved me.””
“I did.””
“Did?””
She wiped her cheek.
“I don't know anymore.””
Jasmine reached across the table.
“Mom, don't cry. You're allowed to have a life.””
I looked at the two of them.
There it was.
Not concern.
Not fear for my health.
Not even exhaustion.
They wanted their freedom.
And I was the obstacle.
I slowly moved my wheelchair away from the table.
“Marcus,” Linda called.
I stopped.
“Where are you going?””
“To my study.””
“We haven't finished discussing this.””
I turned around.
“Yes, we have.””
I left them sitting together.
In my study, I called Daniel.
He answered after the second ring.
“Marcus?””
“I need you to come tomorrow.””
“Is everything okay?””
“No. But I think I'm finally beginning to understand what's happening.””
He paused.
“Have you been practicing?””
“Yes.””
“How long can you stand now?””
“About forty seconds without assistance.””
Daniel laughed softly.
“That's excellent.””
“Daniel, I want to try walking.””
“Not without me there.””
“I know.””
“Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock.””
“Thank you.””
After ending the call, I opened the drawer containing my medical records.
I found the rehabilitation assessment from three weeks earlier.
My improvement had been substantial.
The muscles in my legs were responding. My balance was improving. The specialist believed I could eventually walk short distances with a cane.
I had kept this information private because I wanted to surprise Linda.
Now I understood that revealing it would be a mistake.
At 10:15 p.m., I heard voices in the hallway.
I moved closer to the study door.
Jasmine was speaking.
“Mom, you have to stop letting him control everything.””
Linda whispered something I couldn't hear.
Jasmine answered more loudly.
“Then tell him the truth.””
“Not yet,” Linda said.
“Why not?””
“Because we still need his signature.””
My stomach tightened.
“What signature?”” Jasmine asked.
“The final authorization. Robert's office hasn't processed everything.””
I gripped the armrest.
They were talking about another document.
Jasmine lowered her voice.
“What if he refuses?””
Linda answered without hesitation.
“Then we'll make him understand that he has no choice.””
I heard footsteps moving toward the stairs.
Then silence.
I returned to my desk and called Robert.
He answered immediately.
“Marcus?””
“I heard something.””
I explained the conversation.
Robert became very quiet.
“Did they mention a specific document?””
“Final authorization. They need my signature.””
“Don't sign anything.””
“I won't.””
“I'm going to arrange a review of your legal and financial records first thing tomorrow. I also want to discuss protecting the property and securing your accounts.””
“Do whatever you need to do.””
After hanging up, I looked at the family photograph on my desk.
It had been taken three years earlier during a summer vacation in Maine.
Linda was standing beside me.
Jasmine had her arms around both of us.
We were smiling.
I remembered the day clearly.
Jasmine had called me Dad for the first time that afternoon.
I had pretended not to notice how much it meant to me.
Now I wondered whether she had ever meant it.
The following morning, Daniel arrived at eight.
He brought his therapy equipment and a thick folder.
“Ready?”” he asked.
“As ready as I'll ever be.””
He helped me transfer to the standing frame.
“Take your time,” he instructed.
“Don't rush.””
I gripped the bars.
My legs trembled.
My back tightened.
“Look forward, Marcus.””
I lifted my head.
“Good. Now shift your weight.””
I moved slowly.
My right leg shook.
Then my left.
“That's it,” Daniel said.
“Keep breathing.””
I took one small step.
Then another.
My knee buckled, and Daniel caught me before I fell.
I laughed.
Not because it was easy.
Because six months earlier, I hadn't believed I'd ever be able to do that again.
Daniel smiled.
“Two steps. That's progress.””
I sat down, breathing hard.
“Do you think I'll walk?””
Daniel looked at me.
“I think you're closer than you realize.””
I stared at the floor.
“Don't tell anyone yet.””
“Not even your wife?””
“Especially not my wife.””
Daniel nodded.
Then he opened his folder.
“Marcus, there's something else I wanted to show you.””
He removed a printed email.
It was an exchange between Linda and an administrator at the residential facility.
The first message was dated three weeks earlier.
Linda had written:
My husband is increasingly difficult to manage. We need to arrange a permanent placement as soon as possible. He is unlikely to regain independent mobility, and I cannot continue sacrificing my life.
The administrator had replied:
We can begin the intake process once we receive the required medical authorization and financial documentation.
I read the messages twice.
Then I reached the final email.
It was from Linda.
Please keep this confidential. My husband must not know until everything is ready.
I slowly lowered the paper.
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
“I'm sorry you had to see that.””
I shook my head.
“Don't apologize.””
I folded the email and placed it inside my notebook.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Robert appeared.
Marcus, I have located the final authorization document Linda mentioned. You need to see this immediately.
A second message followed.
The document does not simply authorize a change in property ownership.
I stared at the screen.
Then the third message arrived.
It gives Linda authority to make major financial and residential decisions on your behalf if you are declared unable to manage your affairs.
My blood ran cold.
Because at the bottom of the document was a medical assessment.
And the doctor whose name appeared beneath the statement declaring me incapable of independent decision-making was someone I had never met.
Someone Linda had apparently hired to examine me without my knowledge.
May you like
Someone who had already signed the document.
And according to Robert, the appointment for its final approval was scheduled for the following afternoon.
