At first, they had genuinely helped, with groceries, with small repairs.

Then Veronica had offered to handle the utility bills, as a kindness.

Then she had taken control of the credit cards, to streamline things.

Then had come the master bedroom, because the stairs, she said, were getting hard on Carmen’s knees, and wouldn’t it be better if the older folks were downstairs.

Each step reasonable.

Each step small.

Each step framed as care.

And bit by bit, over months, they had systematically stripped Manuel and Carmen of every piece of their autonomy, until two people who had run their own household for half a century had to ask permission to open their own refrigerator.