“We were discussing her school project,” he said. “Nothing serious.”
Lana chimed in immediately. “Yeah.
Science. I need a poster board tomorrow.”
They both smiled at me. Too wide.
Too coordinated.
I forced a laugh. “Poster board drama,” I said, like this was normal. The table exhaled and rushed back into noise.
But my brain didn’t let it go.
Lana doesn’t have science tomorrow. I know her schedule better than I know my own.
That night I stared at the ceiling fan until my eyes hurt. Albert breathed beside me like nothing had happened.
The silence between us felt like a closed door.
Around midnight I whispered, “Are you hiding something from me?”
Albert didn’t open his eyes. “No,” he said softly. “Go to sleep.”
He said it gently, which made it worse.
I turned my face into the pillow and listened to my heartbeat.
The next afternoon, Albert jingled his keys. “We’re going to get the poster board,” he said lightly. “Maybe pizza after.”
Lana slipped into her shoes without meeting my eyes.
She pulled her hoodie on even though it wasn’t cold. When I asked, “Want me to come?” she said, “No,” like she’d practiced.
Albert added, “It’ll be quick.”
I watched them drive off. Lana didn’t wave.
Albert did, but it looked like he was selling me calm.
I stood in the doorway for a full minute. Then I grabbed my keys.
I followed them at a distance, talking myself down. Maybe they were planning a surprise.
Maybe I was spiraling because fear loves drama.
Then Albert drove right past the turn for the store.
He headed toward the older part of town with low buildings and tinted windows. My mouth went dry. My hands tightened on the wheel.
Ten minutes later, their brake lights glowed in front of a bland building with frosted glass.
The sign was small and clean, the kind that tries not to scare people. It did not sell poster board.
They parked. They got out.
Lana pulled her hoodie tighter. Albert looked around before guiding her inside.
I sat in my car staring at the entrance. “Poster board,” I muttered, and it sounded pathetic.
My legs moved anyway.
The lobby smelled like sanitizer and fake lemon. Soft music played like a joke. A table near the wall held brochures, and my eyes snagged on words that made my vision tilt.
Memory.
Cognitive. Caregiver.
My knees went weak. I gripped the edge of the brochure table to keep from falling.
For a second I thought, This is how people collapse.
I spotted them at the front desk. Albert leaned in, speaking low. Lana stood beside him with her arms wrapped around herself.
I tried to stay back, but my ears strained.
Lana’s voice carried, thin and cracked. “She can’t know we’re here,” she whispered. “She’ll freak out.”
Albert replied, “We need to do this first.
If we don’t have answers, she’ll panic.”
Answers.
My brain wrote the worst story in one second flat. They’re documenting me. They’re collecting proof.
They’re going to take my life and call it “help.”
I stepped out from behind a plant. “Answers about what?” I said, too sharp. “About me?”
Lana spun around, eyes wide and wet.
Albert’s face tightened, then smoothed like he put a mask on. “Honey,” he said softly, “not here.”
I laughed once, ugly. “Not here?” I snapped.
“Where, Albert? In another locked room?”
The receptionist looked startled. Someone in the waiting area looked up.
Lana’s face crumpled, and that scared me more than anything else.
“Mom,” Lana hissed, trying not to cry and failing. “Please.”
“Please what?” I demanded. “Please let you talk about me like I’m lopsided here?”
Albert lifted his hands.
“No one is doing that,” he said. “We’re trying to help.”
“Help with what,” I shot back, “since I’m apparently too fragile to hear it?”
Lana swallowed hard. “Because you’ve been forgetting things,” she blurted.
The words landed and didn’t move.
I blinked, waiting for her to take it back. She didn’t.
“What do you mean?” I asked, but my voice had already shifted.
“You repeat questions,” she said, wiping her cheeks fast. “You asked me about homework three times in one night.
You forgot my appointment and I had to remind you again and again.”
“That’s normal,” I said automatically. “I’m stressed.”
“And the stove,” Lana said, voice rising. “You left it on.
You said you didn’t. But it was on.”
My skin went cold. I pictured the burner knob.
The flame. The way I’d brushed it off as nothing.
Albert stepped closer, careful. “It doesn’t mean anything definite,” he said quickly.
“It could be sleep. Stress. Grief.
A lot of things.”
Lana’s voice broke. “Because you get this look,” she said. “Like you’re trying so hard to be fine.
And I didn’t aspire to be the reason you fell apart.”
I opened my mouth and nothing came out.
Albert’s voice went soft. “I didn’t want to scare you,” he said. “I thought if we learned more first, we could talk to you with a plan.”
“So you cut me out,” I said, throat burning.
“You made decisions about my life without me.”
“No,” Albert said too fast. “Not without you. For you.”
“A net feels like a cage when you don’t tell the person you’re wrapping.”
