Chapter 2 - The Lockout
After making sure Sarah was resting comfortably under the care of the hospital’s neurology team, I left her bedside with one mission: secure our home and remove the threat permanently. I drove back to our house with my knuckles white against the steering wheel. The drive usually took twenty minutes; I made it in twelve.
When I unlocked the front door, the smell of burnt food still hung heavy in the air. My mother was sitting on the living room sofa, flipping through a home decor magazine with the television blaring. She looked up as I walked in, her face twisting into an expression of manufactured annoyance.
“Finally,” she sighed, closing the magazine. “Did they give her a sedative? I swear, Ethan, women these days have zero tolerance for motherhood. In my day, we raised three kids without a single complaint. Where is my grandson?”
“He is at the hospital with a private nurse I hired,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I walked over to the kitchen counter. I saw Sarah’s phone sitting right where my mother had left it. I picked it up and slipped it into my jacket pocket.
“A private nurse? What a waste of money!” my mother squawked, standing up and crossing her arms. “You spoil her rotten, Ethan. It is sickening to watch you let that weak woman walk all over you. You need a real woman. Someone with breeding, stamina, and class. I was actually just talking to—”
“I saw the nanny cam footage,” I interrupted.
The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. My mother’s arrogant posture stiffened, her eyes darting toward the small black sphere sitting on the bookshelf. For a fraction of a second, genuine panic flickered across her features before she masked it with cold indignation.
“That camera is an invasion of privacy in my son's house!” she snapped. “I was teaching her tough love! She was neglecting her duties!”
“You watched my wife hit her head on the floor, ignored her medical emergency, and sat there eating stew while trying to frame her for abandoning our child,” I said, taking two steps toward her until she was forced to back up toward the entryway. “Give me your house keys. Right now.”
“You cannot kick me out! I am your mother!” she screamed, her face turning crimson.
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“Keys. Or I call the police and show them the video of you assaulting an unconscious woman.”
Hand trembling with rage, she reached into her purse, slammed the silver key onto the console table, and spat at my feet. “You will regret this, Ethan. When she ruins you, don't come crying to me.”
