Chapter 4 - The Forged Prescription
“You’re a thief in your own home,” Grandma hissed, taking a slow, deliberate step into the bedroom and kicking the door shut behind her with a dull thud. The lock on the door clicked into place with a sickeningly familiar sound.
I clutched the forged document tightly against my chest, backing up until my lower back hit the edge of the mahogany dresser. “You lied to Dad. You made up the whole thing. The doctor never said to lock it.”
Grandma didn't flinch. Instead, a chilling, humorless smile spread across her thin lips. She reached slowly into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a heavy brass skeleton key—not for the brace, but something far worse.
“Your father is weak,” she whispered, her voice dropping into a venomous hiss. “He has been weak ever since your mother died in that ditch on Route 9. He doesn't have the stomach to raise a wild animal, and that is what you are—a wild, ungrateful animal just like her. Do you really think he’s going to choose a sullen, clumsy girl over his own mother who kept this household from collapsing into ruin?”
“Dad knows now,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound brave. “Dr. Mercer showed him the real instructions. He saw the marks on my back.”
“Your father sees what I allow him to see,” Grandma replied smoothly, closing the distance between us with terrifying speed. Before I could dart to the side, her bony fingers shot out like iron talons, gripping my bare arm with bruising force and snatching the forged paper from my hand. “And as for the doctor? Small-town orthopedists come and go. But this family answers to me.”
Before she could rip the paper to pieces, the front door downstairs flew open with a tremendous crash that shook the walls.
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“Mother! Sarah!” Dad’s voice roared through the empty hallway, echoing with a blind, panicked fury that made Grandma freeze mid-motion. “Get out here right now! Both of you!”
Grandma’s grip on my arm slackened for a fraction of a second, her eyes darting toward the bedroom door. It was the only opening I needed. I shoved her hard against the edge of the bed, wrenched the door open, and bolted down the hallway toward the living room where my father stood holding something that made my blood run cold.
