Every morning, the nursery camera signal dropped while my mother cared for my sick wife. Suspecting something, I hid a secondary camera in the room. When I checked the feed the next day, I saw my mother standing over my wife, holding a syringe, and whispering, “This is for your own good…”
Instead of stepping aside, my mother turned her attention to the small side table next to the glider. Resting on the surface was Abigail’s heavy glass tumbler of water and a small plastic cup holding her morning dose of painkillers and antibiotics.
With a chilling, casual flick of her wrist, Bernadette swiped her forearm across the table.continue reading …
