Chapter 3

At seven the next morning, I sent the calendar photo to Grant and Celia with one message.

“Return the cabin key by noon. No one moves into property owned by two people without both owners agreeing.”

Celia replied almost immediately. “Grant already gave me permission.”

“Grant can make decisions about his half. I didn’t consent.”

Grant lifted his head from the recliner. The gray blanket slipped onto the floor. His water and medication were still on the table beside him.

“What did you send her?”

I turned the screen toward him.

He read it and sat up. “I told you she could stay there.”

“I didn’t agree.”

“That arrangement was made before the accident.”

“So was your promise to sell.” I pointed to the crossed-out appointment in the photograph. “You can’t forget the first decision and expect me to honor the second.”

Grant’s mouth tightened. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“You’re dealing with it clearly enough. Celia isn’t moving in, and the key comes back today.”

He picked up his phone and called his mother.

Half an hour later, Diane let herself in with her own key. She checked the bandage on Grant’s head, pushed the breakfast I had made toward him, then finally faced me.

“He came home from the hospital last night. Why does the cabin have to be settled today?”

“Because Celia plans to move boxes in tomorrow.”

“Then let her. She just lost her husband. What harm can a few months do?”

“She can’t occupy jointly owned property without my consent.”

Diane sighed. “Helen, Grant can’t even remember what he agreed to. Is it fair to force him into a decision?”

“Letting Celia move in is also a decision.”

“That was arranged before he was hurt.”

I looked at Grant. “So everything he promised Celia before the accident must be honored, while everything he promised me can be canceled?”

Diane tucked the blanket around him. “You need some perspective. The cabin will still be there in a few months. Celia doesn’t have a home now.”

Grant drank his coffee without correcting her.

Twelve years earlier, pneumonia had kept me in bed for two weeks.

Grant had rearranged client visits, set alarms for every dose of medicine, and left soup beside the bed before work. He had never made me feel like a burden.

That was why taking caregiver leave for him had felt automatic.

The night before, I had written down his medication schedule, follow-up appointment, and meals that wouldn’t upset his stomach. The list was taped to the refrigerator, with a box beside every task.

I walked over and took it down.

“What are you doing?” Grant asked.

“Ending my caregiver leave.”

I messaged my supervisor and told her I would return on Monday. Then I logged into payroll and changed my next direct deposit to my personal account.

Grant watched my phone. “You’re moving our money?”

“My paycheck will go into my account. I’ll keep paying my share of our bills, but you won’t use my income to make promises to someone else.”

“You’re separating our finances over a key?”

“I’m doing it because you used that key to make decisions for me.”

Diane stood. “You’re really abandoning him while he’s injured?”

“I’m not leaving him alone. You’re here, and Celia offered to care for him.” I picked up my car keys. “Since you both believe she understands his arrangements better than I do, she can take responsibility for them.”

Grant didn’t call after me. He only lowered his head and began typing on his phone.

I was stepping into the garage when my phone vibrated.

The message was from our daughter, Sophie.

“Mom, Dad can’t even remember what he did. Why can’t you wait until he gets better?”