Linda Thompson.
Prescription date: three years ago — two months before her stroke.
The medication name was unfamiliar, and beneath it, a stark warning glared back at me:
Take only as directed. Severe interaction risk.
My breath hitched.
“Sophie, sweetheart,” I asked gently, “where did you find this?”
“In Grandma’s sweater pocket!” she said proudly, thinking she had done something helpful. “I was folding it like you taught me!”
My mind spun. Linda’s old sweaters hadn’t been touched in ages; I almost never washed clothes she no longer wore. Had this bottle been hidden there all this time? And why a prescription we had never once seen—filled right before the stroke that changed her life?
Just then, Linda’s weak voice called from her room.
See continuation on next page“Claire? Is everything alright?”
I quickly slipped the bottle into my pocket so Sophie wouldn’t worry.
“Yes, just doing laundry,” I replied, trying to steady my tone.
But inside, a terrifying thought pressed hard against my ribs:
What if her stroke wasn’t just bad luck? What if we had missed something crucial all these years?
When Mark got home, I showed him the bottle. His face drained instantly.
“I’ve never seen this,” he whispered. “This isn’t one of her normal medications.”
Neither of us recognized the drug, but the bold warning felt ominous—almost accusatory.
And a cold realization settled over us both:
If this medication was dangerous… and if it dated back to before her stroke… then someone had hidden it.
Or worse—
someone didn’t want us to know it existed at all.
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