He was building a detailed written record of my supposed mental decline to present to a court-appointed doctor.

That was why he had turned on the gas stove and invited Chloe over for dinner, making sure my own niece would testify that I was no longer capable of caring for myself.

“Mrs.

Vance,” Doctor Aris said, tapping his pen twice on the paper.

“Are you hearing what I’m telling you?”

“I hear every word you are saying, Doctor,” I said.

“I’m required by clinic policy to ask if you feel safe going back to your home,” he said.