THE THINGS THEY SAID ABOUT HER Chapter Two

Doris arrived at the home before visiting hours. She had barely slept. “What happened to my mother?” The nurse led her into a small office. “Nothing dangerous,” she said quickly. Doris exhaled. “Then what is it?” The nurse hesitated. “Your mother has been asking for you.” “I know.” “No. I mean… she's been asking for you in a very specific way.” Doris frowned. “What do you mean?” The nurse opened a notebook. “She keeps saying, ‘Don't let them take my house.’” Doris went still. “What house?” “We don't know.” “My mother hasn't owned another house in years.” The nurse nodded. “She also keeps mentioning a blue box.” Doris stared at her. A blue box. She remembered one. It had belonged to her father. After his death, Mama had kept it locked away. Doris had forgotten about it. She went into Mama's room. Her mother was sitting beside the window, staring outside. “Mama.” Mama turned. For a second, her expression brightened. “Doris.” It was the first time in weeks she'd said her name correctly. Doris sat beside her. “You remember me?” Mama smiled. “Of course I remember you.” Doris felt tears rise. “Do you remember the blue box?” Mama's smile disappeared. She looked toward the door. “Don't tell your brother.” “What brother?” “Your uncle.” Doris frowned. “Mama, what is inside the box?” Mama leaned closer. “Your father knew.” “Knew what?” Mama's eyes filled with fear. “They want everything.” “Who?” Mama looked toward the door again. “The family.” Doris left the room confused. She called her aunt. No answer. She called her uncle. He picked up after the fourth ring. “Hello?” “Uncle, what is this about Mama's house?” There was silence. “What house?” “The house Mama keeps talking about.” Her uncle sighed. “Your mother doesn't know what she's saying.” “Then why are you so interested in what she does with her property?” Another silence. Doris felt something tighten in her stomach. “What are you not telling me?” “Don't start behaving like your father.” The call ended. Doris stared at her phone. That wasn't an answer. It was a warning. That evening, she went home and searched through her mother's old belongings. At the bottom of a wardrobe, beneath old clothes and photographs, she found the blue box. Her hands shook as she opened it. Inside were documents. Property papers. Bank statements. A handwritten letter. And a name she recognised immediately. Her uncle's. Doris sat on the floor. Suddenly, the family's anger made sense. It wasn't only about Mama being placed in a home. It was about what Mama could no longer remember. And what other people hoped she would never remember again. Doris picked up the letter. It was written by her father years before he died. She unfolded it carefully. There was only one sentence that mattered: “If anything happens to me, make sure Doris knows what belongs to her mother.” She read it again. Then again. Her phone began ringing. Her aunt. Doris didn't answer. The phone stopped. A message came immediately afterward. “You have no right to go through Mama's things.” Another message followed. “We know what you're doing.” Doris looked at the documents spread across the floor. For months, she had been defending herself against people who believed she was a cruel daughter. Now she was beginning to wonder whether they had wanted her to feel guilty. Guilty enough to stop asking questions. Guilty enough to leave her mother in their care. Guilty enough to walk away from whatever belonged to her. She picked up the letter again. For the first time since putting Mama in the home, Doris didn't feel like a daughter who had failed her mother. She felt like a woman who had finally realised she might have been fighting the wrong battle. The next morning, she went back to the care home. Mama was sitting by the window again. Doris took her hand. “Mama.” Her mother looked at her. “Yes?” “Tell me about the house.” Mama stared at her for a long time. Then she whispered, “Your father didn't die because of an accident.” Doris stopped breathing. “What?” Mama looked toward the door. “He was going to tell you everything.” Doris tightened her grip on her mother's hand. “Tell me what happened.” But Mama had already closed her eyes. And she said nothing more.

Other insights from Fee

Referral Earning

Points-to-Coupons