Angela flipped through her papers. “It is. The hospital social worker arranged everything. Physical therapy, weekly nurse visits, even help with meals. There was no recommendation for a nursing home.”
My daughter looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something in her eyes I hadn’t seen before.
Not anger.
Fear.
“You told me,” I said quietly, “that the doctors said I had to leave.”
She didn’t answer.
The younger officer spoke again, her tone firmer now. “Ma’am, your father’s name is still on the deed of this property.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
She nodded. “We checked before arriving. The house is legally co-owned. You cannot lock him out.”
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