When Home Doesn’t Feel Like Home Anymore
Cole stayed quiet, letting him go on.
“He moved in after my wife passed,” Walter said.
“At first, he helped. Then he started controlling things… bills, phone calls… everything.”
His grip tightened slightly around the cane.
“Then my phone disappeared. My keys. My ID.”
His voice dropped lower.
“He told everyone I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Walter stared down at the table.
“And one day… I realized I hadn’t been outside in weeks.”
A breath.
“There was a lock on the back door.”
A pause.
“From the outside.”
Cole’s expression didn’t change, but his focus sharpened.
“How did you get out?”
Walter gave a faint, tired smile.
“A butter knife.”
