CHAPTER 3
Phedra’s scans were scheduled for the following afternoon.
I should have stayed beside her.
She insisted I leave.
“You need to see the shed.”
“I’ve already seen enough.”
“No.”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
“You haven’t.”
Mara, the social worker, agreed.
“If there are belongings, medication, financial documents, or anything else she needs, collect them safely. Don’t go alone if you expect confrontation.”
I called the local police station.
I did not ask them to arrest anyone.
Not yet.
I asked whether an officer could be present while I retrieved my wife’s property.
Two officers met me outside the house.
Selina nearly performed a miracle when she saw them.
Her anger vanished.
“Damian!”
She hurried down the steps.
“You brought police to your mother’s home?”
“Our home,” I said.
Her face tightened.
Godfrey appeared behind her.
His expensive shirt from yesterday had been replaced by work clothes.
“Seriously?”
One officer spoke.
“Sir, we’re only here to keep the peace while Mr. Cole retrieves his wife’s belongings.”
Godfrey gave me a long look.
“You told them lies?”
“I haven’t told them much yet.”
That shut him up.
Selina stepped closer.
“Damian, your wife has poisoned you against us.”
“Open the shed.”
Her face changed.
“Why?”
“Open it.”
She crossed her arms.
“I don’t know where the key is.”
Phedra had already told me.
“Blue flowerpot beside the kitchen door.”
Godfrey cursed under his breath.
I found the key exactly where Phedra said it would be.
The shed smelled worse inside than I remembered from the yard.
Damp wood.
Bleach.
Mold.
Old medicine.
A thin mattress lay on the floor.
One blanket.
A plastic basin.
A small battery-powered lamp.
Phedra’s clothes were stacked inside a cardboard box.
No wardrobe.
No fan.
No proper window.
One officer stopped at the doorway.
“Your wife lived here?”
“For six months.”
Selina answered from behind us.
“She chose to stay there.”
I turned slowly.
Selina lifted both hands.
“She wanted privacy.”
I pointed to the padlock hanging from the outside latch.
“Privacy?”
The officer looked at it too.
Selina immediately said, “That was for storage.”
I took photographs.
The mattress.
The ceiling stain.
The bucket.
The cracked plastic chair.
Then I opened the cardboard box.
Inside were old clothes, hospital papers, and a plastic bag containing medication.
I checked the labels.
Some bottles were nearly full.
Expired.
My chest tightened.
There were appointment letters too.
Four.
Two had never been opened.
One carried a red stamp warning that Phedra had missed an urgent oncology review.
I held it toward Selina.
“Did you see this?”
“No.”
“It was delivered here.”
“I don’t read other people’s mail.”
Phedra had told me Selina took every letter before it reached the shed.
I kept searching.
At the bottom of the box, beneath an old scarf, I found a notebook.
The first pages were recipes.
Then grocery lists.
Then numbers.
Dates.
Amounts.
Phedra had written everything down.
January 8 — asked Selina for transport to hospital. She said no money.
January 12 — Damian sent money. Selina bought new dining table.
February 3 — Godfrey collected SUV.
February 17 — asked again for appointment. Selina said treatment was a waste.
March 1 — Godfrey pushed me after I used kitchen phone.
I stopped reading.
The officer beside me spoke quietly.
“Take that with you.”
I nodded.
Then I saw another box.
It belonged to me.
Old photographs.
Employment documents.
Copies of identification.
Except half the papers were gone.
I turned.
“Godfrey.”
He leaned against the doorway.
“What?”
“Where are my documents?”
“What documents?”
“The ones from this box.”
“How would I know?”
“Phedra saw Selina take them.”
My mother scoffed.
“Phedra sees all kinds of things.”
One of the officers stepped between us before I moved closer.
“Mr. Cole.”
I backed away.
Then I noticed something sticking behind the box.
An envelope.
It carried the logo of a finance company.
Godfrey moved immediately.
“That’s mine.”
I picked it up.
His name was on the front.
So was my address.
“What is this?”
“Business stuff.”
“Why is it hidden in my box?”
“It fell there.”
I handed it to him.
He snatched it away too quickly.
I saw fear.
Not irritation.
Fear.
I remembered what Phedra had told me at the hospital.
Copies of my passport.
Bank letters.
Tax documents.
Godfrey needing them.
I said nothing else.
We gathered Phedra’s clothes and medical papers.
Selina followed me toward the gate.
“Damian, think about what you’re doing.”
“I am.”
“You’re humiliating your family.”
“No.”
I looked back at the shed.
“You did that yourselves.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
Years ago, those tears could make me apologize even when I had done nothing wrong.
They had raised me.
Fed me.
Sent me to school.
I had spent my whole adult life believing I owed Selina everything.
Now Phedra’s notebook was under my arm.
“I sacrificed for you,” Selina whispered.
“I know.”
“After your father died, who kept this family together?”
“You did.”
“Who helped you get to Canada?”
“You did.”
“And this is how you repay me?”
I stepped closer.
“You want to talk about repayment?”
She looked away.
“I sent almost a hundred thousand dollars.”
“That money supported the household.”
“My wife was starving.”
“She was not starving.”
“She told a hospital nurse she survived on tea yesterday.”
Selina’s jaw tightened.
“She’s dramatic.”
I stared at my mother.
For the first time in my life, I wondered whether I had ever really known her.
Godfrey called from the porch.
“Mom, let him go.”
Selina’s expression changed again.
Too fast.
“Fine.”
She wiped her face.
“But remember something, Damian.”
I stopped.
“When that settlement comes, people will suddenly appear pretending to care about you.”
I almost smiled.
“People already have.”
Back at the hospital, Phedra was awake.
I placed the notebook beside her.
She stared at it.
“You found it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you kept records?”
“I didn’t know if I’d ever get out.”
The words hit me harder than anything Selina had said.
I sat beside her.
“You thought you might die there.”
Phedra looked down.
“I thought if I did, maybe someone would find the notebook.”
I covered my face.
She reached for me.
“Damian.”
“I should have come home.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have known.”
“You were being lied to too.”
I looked at her.
“Not the way you were.”
She didn’t argue.
That evening, Dr. Mensah returned with preliminary results.
“The good news is that I don’t see obvious distant spread on the scans we have so far.”
Phedra inhaled sharply.
I grabbed her hand.
The doctor continued.
“But the tumor has progressed locally, and we need biopsy confirmation and additional imaging.”
“Can she still recover?”
“We have a real treatment path.”
For the first time since I came home, hope entered the room.
Small.
Fragile.
But real.
I kissed Phedra’s forehead.
My phone buzzed.
Martin Hale.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Damian,” he said, “I need you to listen carefully.”
“What happened?”
“We received an email about your settlement twenty minutes ago.”
“From who?”
“It appears to be from you.”
My chest tightened.
“I didn’t send anything.”
“I know.”
“What did it say?”
Martin paused.
“It instructed our office to send the entire settlement to a new bank account.”
I leaned against the wall.
“Whose account?”
“We’re still checking.”
He took a breath.
“But whoever sent the instructions had your passport number.”
May you like
I looked through the glass at Phedra.
Nine days suddenly felt like far too long.
