Chapter 3

One afternoon, Chloe and David showed up to visit.

Dressed in immaculate clothes and carrying a fancy gift basket of fruit, they played the doting daughter and son-in-law for the ward staff.

"Mom, are you feeling better?" Chloe sat on the edge of my mattress, taking my limp hand, wearing an expression of dutiful worry.

I stared blankly into space, letting saliva pool at the corner of my mouth, whimpering brokenly:

"Home... I want to go home..."

David stood by the door, checking his luxury watch with visible impatience.

The second the nurse stepped out to answer a page, Chloe's mask shattered.

She leaned down right beside my ear, her voice a poisonous hiss:

"Cut the act, you old hag. What's the PIN on that cashier's account?"

"The bank won't release the full funds without your secondary verification code. You think playing retarded is going to keep that money from me?"

I kept my eyes vacant, repeatedly babbling the same hollow plea: "Home... let's go home..."

Chloe's face flushed with fury. She dug her sharp acrylic nails deep into my forearm, twisting the flesh.

"You think staying quiet will save you?"

"I already filed for emergency asset transfer as your legal guardian! In thirty days, that three hundred thousand will be legally mine!"

"Let's see how stubborn you are then!"

She shoved my arm away, leaving deep, purple crescent bruises on my pale skin.

"David has already submitted our investor immigration paperwork with that capital. My residency will be granted in no time."

"So just get comfortable here. We'll be sure to pay the minimum bill to keep you breathing."

She straightened her coat, instantly putting on her mournful, innocent face again as she called toward the doorway:

"Nurse, my mother seems to be getting agitated again. Please take extra care of her!"

Nurse Evans stepped back in, glancing at the fresh bruises on my arm. She barely frowned before offering Chloe an accomplice's knowing smile.

"Don't worry, Ms. Miller. We'll handle her."

Watching their backs vanish down the hallway, I slowly lowered my head. Behind my vacant gaze burned a searing, molten hatred.

Every single drop of this debt... I was going to collect it with compound interest.

To claw my way out of this hellhole, sheer willpower wasn't enough. I needed a wedge.

I needed someone who had access to the outside world.

I had already zeroed in on my target.

Her name was Maya Parker. She was a twenty-something social worker who came to the hospital twice a week to assist non-profit advocates and provide patient monitoring.

Unlike the callous staff, Maya's eyes always held a flicker of discomfort and sorrow whenever she looked at me.

She saw an elderly, helpless woman abandoned in a foreign country's asylum, and it broke her heart.

I began intentionally dropping subtle breadcrumbs in front of her.

Whenever orderlies roughly shoved pills toward me, I would look at Maya with sheer, quiet terror. When she handed out afternoon snacks, I took mine with trembling, reverent care, eating quietly in the corner like an abused animal.

My deliberate vulnerability worked. Her empathy deepened.

During her rounds, she began pausing longer at my bedside, asking softly:

"Mrs. Miller, how are you feeling today?"

I always answered with vague, timid mumbles, gazing up at her with eyes that were cloudy yet desperately clinging to her presence.

The iron was getting hot. But I was still missing the most crucial piece of the puzzle: evidence.

A supposed "lunatic's" word was worth nothing in the real world.

I needed cold, hard, indisputable proof that I was fully sane—and that Chloe and David had maliciously institutionalized me to hijack my life savings.

My opportunity arrived sooner than expected.