I’m The Only One Who Looked After My Mom—So Who Took Her From The Nursing Home Without Telling Me?

I went back to Shireen’s store and waited. On day two, I saw them.

Marla, pushing the cart. Mom, in her lavender coat, smiling faintly.

I followed them outside and called out:
“Mom!”

She turned slowly. Her face lit up. “Darlin’! What are you doing here?”

Marla froze. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I could ask you the same,” I said. “You disappeared with her.”

“I rescued her,” Marla snapped. “You dumped her in that place.”

My jaw clenched. “She fell. I had no other choice.”

Mom looked between us, confused. “Girls, don’t fight…”

I pulled out the paperwork. “I have a court order, Marla. She’s coming with me—for now.”

Marla’s face cracked.
“Fine. But you’re going to regret this. She chose me.”

I didn’t respond. I was focused on Mom—tired, thinner than I remembered.

We got in the car. I took her to the doctor.

She hadn’t been taking her meds. She’d lost eight pounds. The scratches on her arms weren’t from a cat—they were from neglected skin care.

Later, I found dozens of wine bottles stashed under Marla’s sink.

She wasn’t helping Mom. She was using her.

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