I looked down at his hand around my wrist.
Then I looked at the blue organiser.
Then I looked at the eighteen people standing in that corridor.
His mother’s sister.
Two of Rhodes’s cousins.
A neighbour I had met exactly once.
Three nurses.
A doctor.
And, sitting in the corner with his arms folded, the solicitor who had handled the house transfer when my aunt died.
Mr. Bell.
Rhodes followed my eyes and his grip tightened.
“Arlette,” he whispered. “Just say it.”
I pulled my wrist free.
“No.”
His face went pale.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean I’m not going to lie.”
His mother’s sister stepped forward.
“You’re really going to do this now?”
I turned toward her.
“Do what?”
“Make everything about yourself.”
I almost laughed.
Everything about myself.
After six years of making everything about everyone else.
The doctor cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Rhodes?”
I looked at him.
“Yes?”
“Could I speak with you privately?”
Rhodes immediately stepped between us.
“She’s my wife.”
The doctor looked at him.
“And she is not your wife’s medication chart.”
The corridor went silent.
Rhodes finally moved.
I followed the doctor into a small consultation room.
He closed the door.
Then he placed a sheet of paper on the table.
“We need to establish exactly what happened before your mother came in.”
I stared at the page.
“What happened?”
“She was given the wrong medication.”
My stomach tightened.
“What medication?”
He told me.
I knew the name.
I had seen it before.
Not in Hattie’s blue organiser.
In a brown pharmacy bag.
Three weeks earlier.
I had found it on the kitchen counter and asked Rhodes what it was.
He had said it was an old prescription.
Something Hattie wasn’t taking anymore.
I hadn’t thought about it again.
The doctor continued.
“The problem is that the medication in the organiser doesn’t match the prescription currently on file.”
I looked at him.
“Who filled it?”
He hesitated.
“That is what we’re trying to determine.”
I sat down.
Then I remembered something.
The morning I left.
Rhodes had followed me into the spare room.
He had watched me pack.
He had watched me put the red folder into my suitcase.
And then he had gone downstairs.
He had filled the coffee machine.
He had opened the blue organiser.
I looked at the doctor.
“Did you find fingerprints?”
He blinked.
“We’re a hospital, Mrs. Rhodes, not a crime scene.”
“Right.”
He slid another document toward me.
“This was inside the organiser.”
It was a folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
Three words were written across the middle.
ASK ARLETTE FIRST.
My blood went cold.
“That isn’t my handwriting.”
“I know.”
The doctor leaned back.
“That’s why I wanted to speak with you.”
I looked at the note again.
“Who found this?”
“The nurse who brought your mother-in-law in.”
“Where was it?”
“Under the medication tray.”
I stared at the handwriting.
Then something clicked.
I knew that handwriting.
Not because I had seen it recently.
Because I had seen it six years earlier.
On the first day Rhodes asked me to help with his business.
His mother had been sitting at our dining table.
She had looked at the papers and said:
“You’re very organised, Arlette.”
Then she had smiled.
“That’s going to be useful.”
I stood up.
“Doctor, is Hattie awake?”
“Not yet.”
“Can I see her?”
He hesitated.
“Briefly.”
I walked back into the corridor.
Rhodes was waiting.
The moment he saw me, he came toward me.
“What did he say?”
I didn’t answer.
He lowered his voice.
“Arlette, please.”
“Why did you fill the organiser?”
His expression changed.
“I didn’t.”
“Then why did you tell me to say I did?”
He looked toward the family.
Then back at me.
“You don’t understand.”
“No.”
I held up the note.
“But I think I’m about to.”
His eyes dropped to it.
For the first time since I had known him, Rhodes looked genuinely frightened.
He whispered:
“Where did you get that?”
I smiled.
“That’s an interesting question.”
His mother’s sister stepped closer.
“What note?”
Rhodes turned on her.
“Stay out of this.”
She froze.
I looked between them.
Then I understood.
This wasn’t about oatmeal.
It had never been about oatmeal.
It wasn’t even about Hattie moving into my house.
It was about the red folder.
It was about the money.
And whatever they had been doing behind my back for the past six months.
I reached into my suitcase and pulled out the folder.
Rhodes stared at it.
“You brought that?”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t supposed to have it.”
I looked at him.
“My house.”
His jaw tightened.
“My money.”
I opened the folder.
“Your money?”
I took out the first bank statement.
Then the second.
Then the third.
His cousin stopped whispering.
The solicitor by the window stood up.
Rhodes stared at the documents.
I said:
“Six years ago, you told me your company needed a little help getting started.”
He said nothing.
“I gave you $86,000.”
His mother’s sister interrupted.
“That was a gift.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
I pulled out another document.
“It was a loan.”
Rhodes swallowed.
“And you haven’t paid back a single cent.”
The corridor went completely silent.
Then I turned to the solicitor.
“Mr. Bell, would you like to tell them what else was in the agreement?”
He looked at Rhodes.
Then at me.
“I think they should hear it from you.”
Rhodes shook his head.
“Don’t.”
Mr. Bell continued.
“Mrs. Arlette retained sole ownership of the property.”
Hattie’s sister frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” I said quietly, “that when Rhodes told everyone this was his house…”
I closed the folder.
“He was lying.”
Rhodes stepped toward me.
“You’re destroying my life.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
I glanced toward the hospital room where his mother was lying unconscious.
“I’m finally stopping you from destroying mine.”
Then the doctor came rushing out.
Everyone turned.
“Mrs. Rhodes?”
“Yes?”
“You need to come with me.”
My heart stopped.
“What happened?”
He looked directly at me.
“Your mother-in-law has regained consciousness.”
I exhaled.
“Is she okay?”
The doctor hesitated.
“She asked for you.”
Rhodes immediately said:
“I’m coming.”
The doctor shook his head.
“She specifically said…”
He looked at me.
“She doesn’t want her son in the room.”
Rhodes went completely still.
Then the doctor added:
“And she has something she wants to tell you.”
I walked toward the room.
Just before I opened the door, I heard Hattie’s weak voice from inside.
“Arlette?”
I stepped in.
She looked smaller than she had three days earlier.
Her face was pale.
Her hands trembled against the blanket.
I pulled the chair beside her bed.
“What do you want to tell me?”
She stared at me for several seconds.
Then she whispered:
“Your husband didn’t put the wrong pills in my organiser.”
I frowned.
“Then who did?”
Hattie closed her eyes.
And when she opened them again, there were tears in them.
“I did.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
She reached beneath her pillow.
And pulled out a second blue organiser.
She placed it on the bed.
Then she whispered:
“Because I needed you to leave the house.”
I felt the air disappear from the room.
“Why?”
Hattie looked toward the door.
Then back at me.
“Because Rhodes was going to kill you.”
My chair scraped backward.
“What?”
She grabbed my hand.
“Listen to me, Arlette.”
Her voice broke.
“He doesn’t know I know.”
I stared at her.
“What does he not know?”
She squeezed my fingers.
“That I found the other account.”
My blood ran cold.
“What other account?”
She whispered four words.
“The one in your name.”
Then the door handle began to turn.
And Hattie looked at me with pure terror.
“Don’t let him in.”