The curtain moved.
Someone was standing behind it.
Before I could focus, Vanessa hurried toward me with a bright smile and wrapped both arms around my neck.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
I hugged her back automatically.
Then I asked the question that had already begun bothering me.
“Why is Mom’s bedroom locked?”
For the smallest fraction of a second, Vanessa froze.
Then her smile returned.
“Oh…”
She laughed softly.
“It’s for her own safety.”
She squeezed my arm affectionately.
“Sometimes she wanders in the middle of the night. The doctor suggested limiting her access until we finalize a long-term care plan.”
I smiled.
“That makes sense.”
She visibly relaxed.
Military deployments teach you many things.
One of the first lessons is that panic reveals weakness.
The second is that people who believe they’ve convinced you often become careless.
I kissed Vanessa on the forehead, carried my duffel bag inside, and spent the next several minutes pretending everything was perfectly normal while neighbors welcomed me home.
Only after the last visitor finally left did I begin looking for the bedroom key.
It didn’t take long.
Vanessa had hidden it beneath several velvet jewelry boxes inside the bottom drawer of her dresser.
Not exactly the first place anyone would search.
I quietly climbed the stairs.
The hallway felt strangely cold.
When I unlocked the bedroom door, complete darkness greeted me.
The room smelled stale.
The curtains had been nailed shut from the inside.
A thin mattress rested directly on the floor without sheets.
Near one wall sat a single plastic cup half-filled with water.
My mother sat quietly beside it.
She wore the same clothes from yesterday.
Her gray hair was uncombed.
Dark purple bruises circled both wrists.
The sight hit me harder than anything I had experienced overseas.
