The phone kept ringing.
Caroline held it in her palm, staring at the little screen as if she could make the caller's name disappear by looking hard enough.
I knew who it was.
Diane had promised to contact me if she needed to speak with me directly, but I hadn't expected her to call so soon.
Caroline pressed the button to answer.
"Hello?"
She listened.
Her face changed.
"Who is this?"
There was another pause.
Then she turned toward me.
"Mom, who is Diane Foster?"
I kept my eyes on the pillow.
I had to remind myself to breathe normally.
Caroline waited for an answer, but I didn't give her one.
She spoke into the phone again.
"She's not available to talk right now."
The voice on the other end must have said something, because Caroline stopped moving.
Her fingers tightened around the plastic casing.
"No, I'm her daughter."
Another pause.
Then her voice became sharper.
"I said she's not available."
She ended the call.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The hospital room was quiet except for the ordinary sounds coming from the corridor.
Caroline looked down at the flip phone.
Then she looked at my purse, which she had emptied onto the chair.
She had found nothing useful in it except the one thing she hadn't known existed.
I watched her return the tissues and receipts to the bag.
She did it quickly, almost angrily.
Then she picked up my smartphone again.
"Mom, I need you to explain something."
I opened my eyes.
"What is it?"
"Why is your lawyer calling you on a secret phone?"
I looked at her without answering.
She shook the flip phone at me.
"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."
I was tired.
My chest hurt when I moved, and my mouth felt dry.
But I understood every word she was saying.
"I didn't know she was going to call."
It was the truth.
Caroline gave a short laugh.
"You expect me to believe that?"
I didn't respond.
She put both phones on the tray table, then pulled the chair closer to my bed.
"Has Diane been filling your head with things?"
I remembered the forged signature.
I remembered the property-transfer document.
I remembered Caroline sitting at my kitchen table with a pen ready for me to sign.
"No," I said.
"Then why are you hiding things from me?"
I looked at her.
"Why were you trying to transfer my money?"
Her expression hardened.
"I already explained that."
"You said you and Richard had debts."
"We do."
"That doesn't make my savings yours."
She looked toward the door.
For the first time, I wondered whether she was checking to see if anyone could hear us.
Then she lowered her voice.
"Mom, you don't understand the situation."
I felt a familiar sadness settle over me.
She had used those words before.
She had used them when I asked about the paperwork.
She had used them when I questioned why my house was supposed to be transferred to a company I had never dealt with.
Now she was using them because I had refused to let her take my money.
"I understand enough," I said.
She stood.
"You're making a mistake."
I didn't ask what mistake she meant.
She picked up her handbag and walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she turned back.
"Don't make this into something ugly."
I wanted to ask her why she thought it was already ugly.
Instead, I watched her leave.
The door clicked shut behind her.
I remained still until I heard her footsteps fade down the corridor.
Then I reached for the nurse call button.
My hand shook as I pressed it.
A nurse arrived a few minutes later.
She was a calm woman with a small badge clipped to her uniform and a pen tucked into her pocket.
"How are you feeling, Margaret?"
I swallowed.
"I need to tell you something."
She pulled the chair closer.
I explained that my daughter had tried to access my bank account without permission.
I told her about the two phones, the attempted transfer, and the call from my attorney.
I didn't try to make Caroline sound worse than she was.
I simply told the nurse what had happened.
When I finished, the nurse's expression became serious.
"Are you afraid your daughter might hurt you?"
I hesitated.
The question was harder to answer than I expected.
Caroline hadn't struck me.
She hadn't threatened to hit me.
But she had taken my hand and used my thumb to authorize a transaction I had not agreed to.
She had told me I might not survive the night.
She had searched through my belongings while I lay too weak to stop her.
"Yes," I said finally. "I'm afraid of what she'll do next."
The nurse nodded.
"You did the right thing by telling me."
She asked whether I wanted her to contact hospital security.
I said yes.
She also asked whether I wanted Caroline kept from visiting me until the situation had been addressed.
I looked at the closed door.
Part of me wanted to say no.
I could already imagine Caroline telling the family that I was confused, that I had become difficult, that I was turning against her because I was ill.
I could imagine the questions from my grandchildren.
I could imagine the hurt on their faces.
Then I remembered how she had looked at my bank account.
"Yes," I said. "Please don't let her come back in without speaking to me first."
The nurse made a note.
She told me she would inform the appropriate staff and arrange for security to follow up.
When she left, I felt strangely exposed.
I had spent decades protecting Caroline from consequences whenever I could.
I had defended her mistakes.
I had helped her through difficult times.
Now I had asked strangers to protect me from her.
It wasn't a decision I had made lightly.
But it was a decision I had needed to make.
A little while later, a hospital security officer came to speak with me.
He asked me to describe what had happened.
I did.
He listened without interrupting, then explained that the hospital would document the incident and coordinate with the appropriate authorities.
I thanked him.
He told me not to hesitate to call for assistance if Caroline returned or if I felt unsafe.
After he left, I reached into my purse and found the flip phone.
The screen was dark.
I held it for a moment, feeling its small weight in my hand.
Then I dialed Diane's number.
She answered quickly.
"Margaret, are you all right?"
"I told the nurse."
"Good."
"Caroline found the phone."
"I know. She answered when I called."
I closed my eyes.
"She knows about you now."
"That may be uncomfortable, but it doesn't change what we need to do."
I could hear papers moving on Diane's desk.
She asked whether Caroline had managed to transfer any money.
I told her the bank had refused the transaction.
"Has the account been restricted?"
"Yes."
"Have you spoken with hospital security?"
"They've been here."
Diane paused.
"I'm glad you've taken those steps."
I stared at the white blanket covering my legs.
"I never thought I'd have to do this."
"I understand."
"No, Diane. I mean, I never thought I'd have to protect myself from my own daughter."
She didn't rush to comfort me with promises.
That was one reason I trusted her.
"Margaret, you can love Caroline and still refuse to let her take what belongs to you."
I pressed the phone against my ear.
I wanted those words to make everything easier.
They didn't.
But they gave me something solid to hold on to.
Before we ended the call, Diane told me that the attempted bank transfer and the earlier property filing needed to be considered together.
She couldn't tell me everything that had happened yet.
She needed the relevant records, and the authorities would have to investigate the circumstances.
I understood.
I told her I would cooperate with whatever was necessary.
Then I put the flip phone away.
For the first time since Caroline had entered my room, I allowed myself to cry.
Quietly.
Not because I was afraid of dying.
Because I was beginning to understand that surviving might mean losing the daughter I thought I knew.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: My Son-in-Law Called It a Family Emergency, but His Questions Revealed How Much He Already Knew About My Money
I Thought Raising My Daughter Alone Would Mean She Would Stand Beside Me When I Needed Her Most
Part 5 of 12
