Chapter 3

"Dr. Arthur Jenkins. He had a medical license, but it was revoked in 2019 for illegally prescribing controlled substances. Now he runs a shady online consultation gig on a sketchy app."

Leo sent the information over, followed by a voice note.

"The guy is a fraud. He was kicked out of the hospital system. Is this the 'expert' your caregiver recommended?"

I stared at the screen, my fingers turning cold.

"Are you sure?"

"The registration details are all here. See for yourself. The online platform he uses is registered under four shell companies that have already been dissolved. They don't even have a medical license. The prescription he gave you has zero legal validity."

My throat tightened.

But then a thought crossed my mind—maybe Helena didn't know. Maybe she was scammed too.

She was just a middle-aged caregiver. How could she verify a doctor's credentials?

When I got home after work, I didn't enter right away. I stood in the hallway for a long time.

Finally, I pushed the door open.

"Helena, about Dr. Jenkins..."

"Yes?"

"His medical license was revoked years ago. Did you know that?"

The rag in Helena’s hand froze for a split second.

Just one second.

"What? Really? But I've known him for years. He always seemed so professional." She put down the rag, her face a picture of pure shock. "Ethan, who told you this?"

"A friend looked him up for me."

"Oh, there must be some mistake. He's verified on several apps, and his ratings are so high. Let me call and ask him..."

She reached for her phone, but I stopped her.

"Don't bother. We're not using his prescriptions anymore. I'll take my mom to the hospital myself."

Helena’s expression shifted.

It was tiny. The corners of her mouth twitched downward by a millimeter before her warm smile snapped back.

"Of course, Ethan. Whatever you think is best. I'm so sorry. I should have been more careful."

"As long as my mom is safe, that's all that matters."

That night, I fed my mother her medication myself. I only gave her the hospital's original prescription and hid the bottle of Olanzapine.

The next day, my mother's eyes seemed a little clearer.

Not by much, but enough for her to slowly and accurately turn her head to follow my movements around the room.

She looked like someone drowning, barely managing to keep her nose above water.

On the third day, I made a decision.

I bought a spy camera.

It was tiny, the size of a fingernail, with Wi-Fi capability to stream live footage to my phone.

While Helena was out grocery shopping, I hid it on top of the TV cable box in the living room, masking it with a few books.

My heart hammered against my ribs the entire time, making me feel like a criminal.

I'm not spying. I'm protecting my mom, I repeated to myself.

That afternoon at the office, I opened the app.

Helena pushed my mother into the living room, turned on the TV, and draped a blanket over her. Then she went to the kitchen, occasionally coming out to check on her.

Everything looked completely normal.

The next day, normal.

The third day, still normal.

On the fourth day, the screen went black.

The app showed: "Device Offline."

Panic seized me. I called Helena immediately.

"Helena, is the Wi-Fi down at home?"

"No, it's working fine. My phone is connected. Why, Ethan?"

My heart sank.

"Nothing. Just checking."

When I got home, I inspected the camera. It was still there.

But a thin layer of plastic wrap had been stretched over the lens.

It was transparent, almost invisible unless you looked closely. The stream was nothing but a blurry smudge.

I crouched in front of the TV, my back drenched in cold sweat.

Who did this?

"Ethan, what are you doing down there?" Helena walked over, holding a plate of fruit.

I stood up, forcing my voice to remain calm.

"Helena, did you see the small camera behind the TV?"

She tilted her head, looking utterly confused.

"A camera? What camera?"

"I put it there."

Two seconds of dead silence.

A bizarre expression washed over Helena’s face. It wasn't panic. It was... deep offense.

"Ethan, are you spying on me?"

"It's not about spying on you. I just worry about my mom when I'm not here—"

"You don't trust me with your mother?" Her voice rose, her eyes instantly welling with tears. "For over a month, I've bathed her, fed her, cleaned her up, and lost sleep to soothe her when she screamed. I've done everything. And you spy on me?"

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Ethan, I understand you're her son. But if you don't trust me, fine! Go watch the footage! See if I've ever mistreated her!"

She slammed herself onto the sofa, clutching her chest.

"I've been in this industry for eight years, and no family has ever treated me like this. I'm... my heart is broken."

Looking at her tears, I panicked.

"Helena, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that—"

"If you don't trust me, hire someone else!" She wiped her tears and stood up. "I'll pack my things and leave today. I don't even want my pay for this week. Let's see if anyone else has the patience I have for her!"

"No, wait—" I quickly held her back. "Helena, please don't be angry. It was my fault. I was just being paranoid."

"Then take that camera down."

I looked at her red, tearful eyes.

I took the camera down.

That night, Leo called, and I told him what happened.

He was silent for a long time.

"Her first reaction to finding the camera wasn't to explain—it was to play the victim. Ethan, think about it."

"Stop analyzing it, Leo. She was genuinely hurt."

"Is she hurt, or is she just a brilliant actress? Can't you tell the difference?"

"I can tell."

Leo sighed.

"Fine. But can your mother tell the difference while she's at her mercy?"

I hung up.

Late that night, I heard a sound from my mother's room.

It wasn't crying. It was a dull, rhythmic thud.

Like something blunt repeatedly hitting the wall.