I showed up to Christmas dinner on a cast, still limping from when my daughter-in-law had shoved me days earlier. My son just laughed and said, “She taught you a lesson—you had it coming.” Then the doorbell rang. I smiled, opened it, and said, “Come in, officer.”

“Sophia is more generous after talking about Richard—bring up memories first.”

“Always ask for money when she’s alone.”

“Jeffrey is too soft; I have to push him.”

She’d mapped my habits, my schedule, even which friends made me emotional. I photographed every page, every document, and stored copies on my computer and in the cloud.

From that day on, my house became my stage. If Melanie wanted a confused old woman, I would give her one—but on my terms.

Playing Senile and Hiring a PI

I began “forgetting” little things: asking the same question twice, leaving a pot a bit too long on the stove, misplacing my keys and then magically finding them. Nothing dangerous just enough to feed Melanie’s story.

She pounced on it. In front of Jeffrey and her friends she’d say, “I’m really worried about Sophia’s memory.” Jeffrey would suggest maybe I needed “help” with the business accounts.

Outwardly I looked worried about myself. Inwardly, I took notes and hit “record.”Continue reading…