"I'm an attorney."
Charles produced his credentials, unhurried, unruffled.
"I trust you'll take my professional integrity into account."
The officers examined his ID carefully, then handed it back.
"Take your wife home. Keep a closer eye on her. Make sure she doesn't wander off again."
No matter how I tried to explain, no one believed me.
Charles brought me back to the house.
This home—built in the name of love—had become my prison.
I opened an app, logged into my account, and posted everything online.
If people paid attention, maybe Grandpa still had a chance.
But in the end, Charles crushed it all with a single document—a diagnosis from a doctor.
It stated, in clinical black and white, that I suffered from a psychiatric disorder.
No one doubts an attorney's word.
Every path was sealed shut.
I argued. I screamed. I even dropped to my knees and begged him to let me leave.
His eyes blazed with cold fury, indifferent and impatient.
"Have I been too lenient with you?"
"If you say one more word of this nonsense, I'll have the hospital stop your grandfather's treatment immediately."
My heart turned to ash. I didn't dare speak another word.
All I could do was tread carefully around him, terrified that one wrong move would push him to abandon Grandpa entirely.
But the call from the hospital came anyway.
It was a critical condition notice.
I nearly shattered. I rushed to the study to find him.
"Charles, Grandpa—he's dying. The hospital just called—"
My hands trembled as I held the phone out to him, my voice barely a whisper.
"This number doesn't lie. Please, just look at it. Please."
"Stop nagging."
His face twisted with irritation.
"You're really getting on my nerves."
He grabbed the phone and hurled it to the ground. The screen exploded into fragments.
My eyes burned red. Tears slid down my cheeks in silence.
Charles didn't even glance at me. He turned and walked away.
I raced to the hospital as fast as I could.
But I was still too late to see Grandpa one last time.
In the cold morgue, his frail body lay still.
The bruises from the beating were still visible on his skin—but he was no longer breathing.
I finally broke. I held him and sobbed until I couldn't breathe.
Forcing down the agony that threatened to tear me apart, I made my way back to the old family home.
The moment I stepped out of the car, I saw it.
Half the house had been demolished.