Chapter 7 - How the attic became “rest”
Two days later, I tried to leave.
Not divorce.
Not police.
I wanted to stay with Erin.
Michael said:
“You cannot manage the tube alone.”
“Erin can learn.”
“She has a job and a child.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Patricia heard.
She said:
“This is what she does. Any time there’s accountability, she runs to her sister.”
I stared.
“Accountability for being sick?”
“For refusing care.”
Michael said:
“Everyone stop.”
Then:
“Claire, just go upstairs and rest.”
I refused.
He said the guest room was noisy because contractors were replacing flooring downstairs.
The third-floor room was quieter.
I went.
Voluntarily.
That distinction mattered.
For the first afternoon.
There was a mattress.
Water.
Bathroom.
My blanket.
Michael brought the tablet.
Patricia brought feedings.
I slept.
That evening I tried to come downstairs.
The door would not open.
I thought it was stuck.
Then heard metal slide.
Michael opened it.
“Why was that locked?”
He looked embarrassed.
“Mom put the latch because you were wandering while dizzy.”
“I was not wandering.”
“You almost fell yesterday.”
“Take it off.”
“I will.”
He didn’t.
That night, when they left, I heard the click again.
The next morning I demanded my phone.
Michael said he had put it downstairs so I could:
“Actually rest.”
I demanded the door stay open.
He said:
“You’re getting agitated.”
I screamed.
That became proof I was agitated.
By the third day, Michael stopped pretending the lock was temporary.
“You keep trying to leave before you’re medically stable.”
“I am a thirty-year-old adult.”
“You are making decisions that could kill our daughter.”
“The doctors did not say I need to be locked in a room.”
“They don’t see you here.”
Exactly.
They did not.
Because Michael canceled my next appointment.
Told the office I was too ill to travel.
A telehealth visit was scheduled.
He sat beside me for the entire call.
I said very little.
Patricia stood outside the camera frame.
The doctor asked:
“Are you safe at home?”
Routine screening question.
Michael laughed lightly.
“Safer than she wants to admit.”
The doctor looked at me.
I said:
“Yes.”
May you like
Second lie.
That one stayed with me longer.
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