Story code: ST-001134
Part 3: The Dosage of Deceit
I waited until the apartment fell completely silent, the only sound the low, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator. Clara’s bedroom door remained locked, a sliver of light vanishing from beneath it just after midnight. I wheeled myself back into the kitchen, the floorboards silent beneath my rubber tires. My hands were shaking slightly, but my head was clearer than it had been in weeks. I had intentionally skipped my evening dose, spitting the pills into a tissue and hiding them in my pajama pocket. The heavy fog that usually clouded my thoughts had finally lifted, replaced by a cold, sharp focus.
I reached for the translucent blue plastic pill organizer sitting on the laminate counter. In the dim light of the microwave clock, I popped open the compartments for the upcoming week. I turned on my small desk lamp, keeping the beam focused strictly on the counter so as not to cast shadows down the hallway.
I pulled my prescription bottles from the cabinet and began comparing the contents one by one. In the morning slots of the organizer, Clara had placed three yellow tablets. According to my pharmacy labels, those yellow tablets were my low-dose sedative, prescribed to be taken only as needed for severe anxiety. The prescription bottle clearly stated one tablet maximum. She had tripled the dose, packing them into every single morning slot to guarantee I would remain quiet and sleepy. In contrast, my daily heart medication-the small white pills meant to maintain my circulation and keep my energy levels stable-was completely missing from the organizer. They were still sitting in the original bottle, untouched.
She was deliberately overmedicating me to keep me lethargic, and withholding the medication that kept my heart pumping properly, ensuring I remained entirely dependent on her presence.
To find out why, I turned my attention to Clara’s leather portfolio folder, which she had left sitting on the corner of the kitchen desk. It was usually zipped shut, but tonight the brass zipper was halfway open. I pulled it toward me. My fingers brushed past old receipts and grocery lists until they hit a thick, official-looking document at the bottom.
The letterhead bore the seal of the State Board of Nursing. I unfolded the crisp paper, my eyes scanning the text. It was a formal order of license revocation dated three years prior. Clara Miller’s nursing assistant registration had been permanently stripped. The board’s findings cited multiple instances of severe medication negligence and the unauthorized administration of chemical restraints to keep elderly residents docile in her previous job.
There was no grand career abandoned for my sake. There were no private practice clients she had given up out of the goodness of her heart. She was a fraud who had been legally barred from caregiving, using a fabricated story of sacrifice to guilt my family into letting her run my life. The paper rustled in my grip as the truth clicked into place. The proof was right in front of me, and morning was only a few hours away.