She stole my mother’s medication—right out of her kitchen, while smiling and asking about her favorite TV show.
I watched her pocket the pills like it was nothing, like my mom’s life didn’t matter.
That wasn’t a mistake. That was planned, practiced, and personal.
She thought no one was watching. She thought an old woman wouldn’t notice.
But I did. And I made sure she paid for every last pill—with proof, a confrontation she never saw coming, and a turn of events that hit her where it hurt most.
A Subtle Unease
I never thought I’d find myself tiptoeing around my own mother’s kitchen, but I did exactly that on a chilly October morning. Mom—her name’s Harriet—had been complaining that her medication always seemed to be running out too soon. She wasn’t imagining it, and I knew it in my gut.
I teach English at the local high school. My schedule can be erratic. Between grading essays on Romeo and Juliet and attending parent-teacher meetings, my life leaves little room for extra tasks. That’s partly why my husband, Joel, and I decided to hire a home aide to support Mom. Her walking had grown unsteady, and she needed help with daily chores. The aide, Shauna, came recommended by a neighbor.
At first, everything was fine. Shauna arrived on time, smiled warmly, and made conversation that put my mother at ease. Within a couple of weeks, Mom’s complaining about medication started. I brushed it off, thinking maybe we’d miscounted. Then it happened again—and again.
That morning, I pulled open the cabinet that housed Mom’s prescription bottles. One definitely felt lighter than it should. My pulse thudded in my ears. I forced myself to stay calm. As an educator, I’m used to logic and fairness, but nothing about the missing pills felt rational or fair.
Mom peeked around the corner. She’d heard me rummaging. “Emma,” she murmured, “I’m not losing it, am I?”
I set the bottle on the counter. “No, you’re not.” That admission hung in the air like a lingering draft, confirming the creeping worry we’d both been harboring.
Small Details, Big Questions
When I returned home that afternoon, I found myself replaying the scene. It was just me and our daughter, Lexi, in the living room. She was doing homework, her pencil tapping gently against the table. My mind was stuck on Mom’s face—her tight-lipped frustration, her pride wavering.
I decided to examine the pharmacy records. A quick call confirmed that there were no early refills. My chest sank. The numbers lined up with the expected schedule, which meant the missing pills weren’t an administrative slip. They were simply… gone.
Later, Joel arrived from work. He slumped onto the couch, flipping through a stack of mail. “Long day?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
He looked up. “Exhausting. You?”
I exhaled. “Let’s just say I’m positive something’s off with Mom’s meds.” I ran him through the details: the half-empty bottle, the consistent short counts, and the pharmacy records. He listened, brow creased.
“Do you think Shauna’s behind it?” he asked carefully.
I bit my lip. “It’s not impossible. She’s the only outsider with regular access. But I don’t want to accuse her without proof. Mom depends on her.”
Joel nodded, a serious look in his eyes. “We need to figure this out soon, Em. Your mom’s health isn’t something to gamble on.”
I realized that was exactly my fear: if the pills vanished again, Mom could end up in worse shape. The thought ignited a spark of rage in my chest. Nobody messes with Harriet’s well-being.
Shadows in the House
The next morning, I dropped by Mom’s unannounced. My plan was simple—observe Shauna without her knowing I was there. I slipped in, greeting Mom softly. She was sitting in her favorite chair, crocheting a blanket as though she were trying to distract herself.
Shauna bustled in and out of the kitchen, humming to herself, a forced cheeriness in her voice whenever she spoke to Mom. I stayed out of sight in the hallway, my heart pounding with each of Shauna’s footsteps. A strange tension sank into my limbs.
At first, she did nothing suspicious. She cleaned dishes, chatted about the cool weather, and asked Mom about her favorite TV shows. Mom answered politely, though I could tell her trust had cracked.
Then came the moment I dreaded. Shauna shuffled to the cabinet and grabbed Mom’s pill bottle. My stomach twisted. She studied the label, then quietly palmed a couple of pills, sliding them into her pocket with practiced ease.
Rage flared in my chest. I almost stormed out to confront her, but I froze. If I challenged her with nothing but my word, she might deny it. And then we’d be in a he-said-she-said mess. Still, witnessing that brazen act left me shaken. Harriet had placed her trust in Shauna, and Shauna was exploiting it.
I backed away as Shauna returned the bottle. When I reached the front door, I quietly let myself out. My hands trembled, and tears stung my eyes. This wasn’t a random mishap. It was deliberate theft. And Mom deserved so much better.
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