Chapter 3: What His Mother Had Been Hiding
"Mom, I never said that.""
Derrick held Gloria's hand between both of his.
"I would never say that.""
Gloria searched his face.
For a moment, she looked like the little girl in an old photograph Derrick kept on his desk—the woman who had once been so certain that he could fix anything.
Then she began to cry again.
"She told me you were tired of me.""
Derrick shook his head.
"No. No, Mom.""
"She said I was ruining your marriage.""
He looked over his shoulder.
Patrice stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.
"That's not what happened.""
Derrick didn't turn fully toward her.
"Call an ambulance.""
Patrice laughed in disbelief.
"An ambulance? For what? She's sitting right there.""
"She says she can't stand.""
"She fell. I told you that.""
"Then she needs to be checked.""
"You're embarrassing yourself.""
Derrick reached for his phone.
Patrice stepped into the room.
"Listen to me. Your mother has been difficult for months. She refuses to follow instructions.
She keeps moving things around. She leaves the kitchen dirty, forgets to turn off lights, and calls you whenever I ask her to do something.""
Gloria lowered her eyes.
Derrick noticed.
He looked at his mother.
"Did you have anything to eat today?""
She hesitated.
"Your mother is fine," Patrice interrupted.
He didn't look up.
"Mom, answer me.""
Gloria glanced at the plate on the floor.
"She brought me half a sandwich this morning.""
Derrick stared at the plate.
There was one small piece of bread, dried around the edges.
"That's all?""
"I wasn't hungry.""
"Mom.""
Gloria's voice became quieter.
"She said I didn't deserve the cake.""
Derrick felt something cold settle in his chest.
He looked toward the living room.
The little white birthday cake was still sitting beside the entrance.
Pink roses.
Golden candle.
A celebration he had imagined sharing with his mother.
He had spent twenty minutes driving across town to get it.
And his mother had been sitting in a locked room, waiting.
"Did she give you your medicine?"" he asked.
Gloria shook her head.
"I don't know where it is.""
Derrick stood.
"Where are her medications?""
Patrice rolled her eyes.
"In the bathroom cabinet.""
"Why didn't you give them to her?""
"Because she wouldn't take them.""
Gloria shook her head again.
"I asked her.""
Patrice snapped.
"Gloria, please stop!""
Derrick turned.
"Don't raise your voice at her.""
"Oh, so now I can't speak in my own house?""
"You can speak. You just can't keep lying.""
Patrice pointed toward the hallway.
"You have no idea what I've been dealing with.""
Derrick looked at her.
"Then tell me.""
"Every single day, she makes me feel like a servant. She complains about my cooking. She criticizes how I clean.
She tells you I'm not good enough. And you always take her side!""
Gloria tried to sit straighter.
"Patrice, I never—"
"Don't!"" Patrice shouted.
Gloria flinched.
Derrick immediately moved between them.
"That's enough.""
His phone was already in his hand.
He dialed emergency services.
Patrice watched him.
"You're really doing this?""
"Yes.""
"You're calling strangers into our marriage?""
"I'm calling people to help my mother.""
When the operator answered, Derrick gave the address and explained that his elderly mother had fallen and was unable to stand.
He stayed beside Gloria while he spoke.
Patrice walked out of the room.
A few seconds later, they heard the kitchen drawer slam.
Derrick glanced toward the hallway.
"Mom, don't worry. Help is coming.""
Gloria squeezed his fingers.
"Baby, I need to tell you something.""
He leaned closer.
"What is it?""
She looked toward the door to make sure Patrice was gone.
Then she whispered:
"She took my phone.""
Derrick frowned.
"Your phone?""
"The little one you bought me. She said I was calling you too much.""
He stared at her.
"When?""
"Three days ago.""
"Where is it?""
"I don't know.""
He looked toward the hallway again.
"Did she hurt you?""
Gloria didn't answer.
Instead, she looked down at her right wrist.
A faint purple mark showed beneath the sleeve of her cardigan.
Derrick gently lifted the fabric.
His jaw tightened.
"Mom...""
"It happened when I tried to open the door.""
He felt his throat close.
"What happened?""
"She grabbed me.""
Gloria's eyes filled again.
"She said I wasn't going anywhere until I learned to behave.""
Derrick sat beside her.
He had known Patrice could be impatient. He had heard her complain about Gloria's habits. He had occasionally asked his mother to be more understanding because he believed both women were struggling to share the same home.
But he had never imagined this.
Never.
A siren sounded faintly in the distance.
Derrick took a breath.
"You're going to be okay.""
Gloria shook her head.
"There's something else.""
He looked at her.
"What?""
She swallowed.
"Your father.""
Derrick blinked.
"My father?""
Gloria nodded.
"Before he died, he gave me something. He told me to keep it safe.""
Derrick remembered his father, Robert, as a quiet man who rarely discussed money. He had died seven years earlier, leaving behind a modest house, a few savings accounts, and a lifetime of photographs.
"What did he give you?""
Gloria looked toward the small bedside cabinet.
"Documents.""
"What documents?""
"Something Patrice found.""
Derrick went still.
Gloria continued in a trembling voice.
"That's when everything changed.""
Before he could ask another question, Patrice returned.
She was holding a glass of water.
Her expression had softened.
"Gloria, here. Drink this.""
Derrick stood immediately.
"Leave it.""
Patrice stopped.
"What?""
"Don't give her anything.""
Her eyebrows rose.
"Are you serious?""
"She needs to be examined first.""
Patrice placed the glass on the cabinet.
Then she looked at Gloria.
"You're making this much worse than it needs to be.""
Gloria pulled the blanket closer to her chest.
Patrice leaned toward her.
"Tell him what you told me yesterday.""
Derrick stepped forward.
"Get away from her.""
Patrice straightened.
"Fine.""
She looked at him with an expression that was almost wounded.
"You want to know what this is really about? Ask your mother what she did with your father's papers.""
Derrick turned back to Gloria.
His mother closed her eyes.
Patrice continued.
"Ask her why she kept everything from you.""
"Stop talking," Derrick said.
"No. You want the truth? You should hear all of it.""
She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
Then she placed it on the bedside cabinet.
"Your mother isn't as innocent as you think.""
Derrick looked at the paper.
It appeared to be a photocopy of a legal document.
At the top was his father's full name.
Robert Hayes.
Below it was a date from six months before his death.
And near the bottom, beside a signature that looked disturbingly familiar, was Derrick's own name.
He picked it up.
"What is this?""
Patrice folded her arms.
"Ask your mother.""
Derrick turned toward Gloria.
She was staring at the paper as if it were something dangerous.
"Mom?""
Gloria shook her head.
"I didn't want you to find out like this.""
"Find out what?""
Her eyes filled with tears.
Then, just as the sirens stopped outside the house, she whispered:
"Your father left you this house, Dre.""
Derrick looked down at the document.
May you like
Gloria took a trembling breath.
"And Patrice has been trying to sell it.""
