I didn’t cry. I sat on the edge of my bed with my hands folded tightly in my lap, listening to Jason laughing down the hallway. Then the door opened slightly and Abby slipped inside. She locked it behind her, her face completely pale. “Grandma, I wasn’t supposed to find this,” she whispered, pulling a folded packet from beneath her sweatshirt. She had discovered it inside her father’s desk drawer, hidden beneath his tax papers.

My hands shook as I opened it. The first page was titled Durable Power of Attorney, with my full name printed beneath it. A yellow sticky note in Jason’s handwriting was attached: “Tuesday, 10 a.m. Do NOT let her read it first.” Abby pointed toward the final page. I turned it over—and felt the blood drain from my face. A doctor I had never met claimed I suffered from serious memory decline and needed supervised care. Then I saw what Jason planned to do with that lie.

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