Just then, my father’s truck pulled up outside, and my parents came rushing into the house. My mother took one look at Abigail’s pale face and placed a hand over her mouth in sheer horror.
“My sweet girl, what on earth have they done to you?” my mother cried out.
Mrs. Brenda tried to talk over everyone, raising her voice to say, “Nobody did anything bad to her here, because I have sacrificed my whole life to serve her!”
My father did not waste time arguing, as he picked up the suitcase and stated firmly, “We are going straight to the hospital first, and we can deal with the rest later.”
As we walked out to the driveway, Brandon’s car pulled up, and he stepped out wearing his work clothes while staring at the chaotic scene.
“What is going on here?” Brandon asked in total confusion.
“Your wife can barely stand up on her own feet,” I told him angrily, “because your mother took away her vitamins, restricted her water, and served her spoiled food.”
Mrs. Brenda immediately chimed in, shouting, “That is an absolute lie!”
I pulled out the plastic bag containing the discarded fish and thrust it toward Brandon. “Smell this right now.”
Brandon recoiled in disgust the second the stench reached his nose. “Mom, what in the world is this?”
“It is perfectly fine food, but your wife always loves to exaggerate everything,” Mrs. Brenda insisted defensively.
Abigail raised her voice for the very first time, shouting back, “I am not exaggerating at all!”
Everyone stopped talking and stared at her in shock.
“She gives me rotten leftovers whenever you are not home, and she tells me that if I do not finish them, I get nothing else to eat,” Abigail revealed through her tears. “Whenever I try to order food, she takes my phone away, and when you come back from work, she cooks fresh meals for you while telling you that I already ate.”
Brandon went completely pale as the truth hit him.
Mrs. Brenda attempted to interrupt again, saying, “She is just confused by pregnancy hormones.”
My mother glared at her with an intensity I had never seen before and said, “Do not you dare call my daughter crazy ever again.”
We drove directly to the emergency room, where the medical tests quickly revealed severe dehydration, anemia, and dangerously high sodium levels. The doctor spoke cautiously, explaining that these alarming results were caused by a harsh lack of fluids, poor nourishment, and extreme salt intake, which posed a severe danger to both Abigail and her baby if left unchecked.
Brandon sat in the waiting corridor with his head buried in his hands, muttering, “I honestly had no idea this was happening.”
Abigail looked at him from her wheelchair and replied coldly, “You simply did not want to notice.”
While we waited for further test results, my mother searched through the packed suitcase and discovered a small notebook tucked inside a side pocket that did not belong to Abigail.
I opened the notebook to find my sister’s name written on the front cover. Below it was a structured log detailing strictly enforced schedules, restricted food portions, and written notes like: “Do not allow water after six in the evening,” “If she requests fruit, claim we are out,” and “Never permit her to speak with her mother alone.”
The absolute worst detail was written on the final page under a marked date for the following Monday, reading: “Take Brandon to the lawyer’s office, and make him sign the papers before she recovers.”
Brandon lifted his head in utter shock and asked, “Sign what papers?”
Abigail’s eyes widened as she suddenly remembered the official documents her mother in law had been pressuring her to sign for days.
PART 3
Abigail closed her eyes tightly and took a slow breath before speaking. “She kept telling me it was just a legal form allowing her to accompany me to doctor appointments if Brandon was busy, but I refused to sign because the wording seemed strange.”
“Where is this document kept?” my father asked sternly.
“It is at the house inside a blue folder in the dining room cabinet,” she answered softly.
Brandon stood up immediately and said, “I am going back to get it right now.”
My father stepped in front of him and declared, “You are certainly not going back there alone.”
Since the medical staff wanted Abigail to stay hospitalized for observation, my mother remained at her bedside while my father, Brandon, and I drove back to the house. When we walked inside, Mrs. Brenda was standing in the kitchen actingly completely normal, having wiped down the tables and sprayed air freshener.
“Have you all finally gotten over your dramatic little episode?” she asked casually.
Brandon ignored her question completely, walked straight to the dining cabinet, and pulled out the thick blue folder.
Mrs. Brenda’s face dropped instantly as she yelled, “That folder is none of your business!”
“If it involves my wife and my child, it is entirely my business,” Brandon snapped back.
Inside were legal documents drafting a broad power of attorney that would grant Mrs. Brenda authority over Abigail’s medical decisions, along with partial custody rights over the baby in the event of Abigail’s temporary incapacity. It was not a magical document that could steal a child overnight, but it was an aggressive legal maneuver that Mrs. Brenda had tried to slip past a weakened pregnant woman.
My father read through the legal language twice before raising his eyes. “Why were you trying to force a sick, pregnant woman to sign over her rights?”
Mrs. Brenda crossed her arms tightly and argued, “Because a responsible adult has to plan for the future, and Abigail clearly lacks the maturity to take care of herself!”
