On the second Christmas and Mother’s Day since I began closed research at a national security agency, I requested a video call with my mother, Malia Frazier. “Bryson, when are you coming back?” Malia asked. I noticed that Malia had aged considerably, and what upset me more was the bruise at the corner of her eye. Looking closer, I saw she was wearing old clothes, and her hair was thin and gray. Just as I was feeling concerned, I received a message from the caregiver Thea asking for money. She said Malia needed a new wheelchair, costing $200,000. But Malia had never had problems with her legs, so why would she suddenly need a wheelchair? I called the nursing home, but the director impatiently said it was normal for elderly people to need wheelchairs at Christmas time. Sensing something was wrong, I pulled some strings to access the nursing home’s surveillance footage, and what I saw filled me with rage. I returned to my dorm from the lab and quickly called Malia. “Bryson, when are you coming back? I miss you.” Seeing Malia’s red eyes on my phone screen, I felt instant guilt. Malia had raised my sister and me on her own, and now I couldn’t personally take care of her because I was busy with work. Suddenly, I noticed Malia cautiously glancing outside. The bruise at the corner of her eye was obvious, which alarmed me. I realized something was wrong. The clothes Malia was wearing were ones I’d seen a few Christmases ago. They had a large hole in the waist back then, which was why she had put them away, but now she was wearing them again. Thinking Malia was just being frugal about buying new clothes, I fought back tears and said, “Mom, don’t wear old clothes anymore. I have money now, so you don’t need to save. Be good to yourself. I earn money for you to spend.” She shook her head hesitantly and was about to speak when there was a distinct noise from her end. The next second, the video call was abruptly disconnected. A moment later, Thea called me. “Mr. Frazier, did you just call Mrs. Malia Frazier? Perfect timing. Please transfer some more money. Mrs. Malia Frazier has run out of health supplements, and she’s also asking for a new wheelchair.” I frowned and asked, “What happened to the $300,000 I sent last month?” “Mr. Frazier, my friend happens to be in the medical equipment business. He’s willing to sell us the best wheelchair at the lowest price, just $200,000.” Are wheelchairs that expensive now? And I remembered Malia had always been healthy, so why would she suddenly need a wheelchair? Sensing something was wrong, I immediately called my sister, Nicole Frazier. The background on her end was noisy, like she was in a bar. Nicole impatiently said, “Isn’t it normal for elderly people to have difficulty walking? If Mom wants it, just buy it.” A voice came from her end: “Nicole, what are you doing? Come back and continue…” Before I could hear clearly, the call was suddenly disconnected. I stared at my dark phone screen, deep in thought. Nicole’s attitude now was completely different from when she initially suggested moving Malia to the nursing home. Back then, she said she would take care of our mother carefully, but Malia wasn’t doing well, while Nicole was out partying at bars. Remembering news about elderly people being abused by caregivers in nursing homes, I felt extremely uneasy and immediately asked my supervisor for leave to go home. On the way, I searched online for the medical equipment company Thea mentioned, but found nothing beyond its name. So I contacted a friend in the industry. Soon, I received my friend’s reply. Reading the message, my face immediately darkened. [This is a shell company disguised as a medical equipment seller, but they actually sell insurance. This company used to be a housekeeping service and made the news for scamming consolation money.] I quickly asked: [What’s consolation money?] My friend replied: [It’s when employers hire caregivers for elderly people, and if the elderly person dies accidentally, they must pay the caregivers their full wages. Some caregivers deliberately cause the death of elderly people to scam this money.] I immediately sensed danger. But Thea was introduced by Nicole, who had vouched for the caregiver’s character. I had even paid over $2 million in entrance fees for the nursing home Nicole recommended, with annual fees calculated separately. Nicole had handled everything. Could she have deliberately arranged for a malicious caregiver to look after our mother?
The news of my return home was communicated by the government to the official institutions in my hometown. The mayor immediately planned to send special security personnel to receive me, but I declined. I parked my car near the nursing home and entered alone, without letting the security guards follow me. It was lunchtime, and I remembered Malia’s room number. After notifying the doorman, I entered the residential area of the nursing home. But Malia wasn’t in her room. Only a luxurious coat lay on the bed. I picked it up and examined it carefully—it wasn’t Malia’s size. Suddenly, I heard familiar coughing from the staircase. Malia had a lung condition; my sister and I had fallen asleep to that cough since childhood. I immediately ran to the staircase and found Malia curled up asleep in the narrow hallway. In that moment, my heart shattered. I approached carefully, but before I could call out to her, she jolted awake. Malia looked at me warily, as if I were a stranger. Confused, I asked, “What’s wrong, Mom?” Malia stared at me dully, as if she couldn’t see me clearly. I quickly took her hand and repeated, “Mom! Don’t you recognize me? I’m Bryson.” Only then did she finally recognize me. She reached out to touch my face, tears sliding down her deeply wrinkled cheeks. “Son…” I pressed my face against her palm. “Yes, it’s me. I’m back.” Malia had lost so much weight, and her temples, which hadn’t had much gray hair before, were now completely white. Fighting back tears, I asked, “Mom, why are you sleeping here?” Malia hesitated, about to answer when a strange woman’s surprised voice came from behind us. “Mr. Frazier, you’re back? Why didn’t you inform us in advance?” I noticed Malia shrinking at the sound of this voice, looking frightened. I turned around to see Thea standing there with a coat hanger. I demanded, “What kind of care is this? Did I hire you to leave my mother sleeping on the floor?” Thea was visibly flustered for a moment, explaining awkwardly, “Mr. Frazier, you misunderstand. Mrs. Malia Frazier felt hot and insisted on sleeping on the staircase.” She shouted at Malia, “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Malia Frazier?” Malia nodded quickly, but never dared to look at her. I found this strange. Malia had always been kind, but never this submissive. Thea suddenly approached and grabbed Malia’s hand. “Mrs. Malia Frazier, let me help you inside.” At that moment, Malia gripped my hand tightly. I noticed Malia’s entire body trying to avoid the coat hanger in Thea’s hand. If I hadn’t been supporting her, she would have fallen. I pushed Thea away. “I’ll stay here with my mother. You can go.” Thea withdrew her hand but kept staring at Malia. I could feel Malia’s hand trembling in mine. Thea added, “Mrs. Malia Frazier has been talking nonsense lately. Don’t mind her if you hear anything strange.” My dissatisfaction peaked, and I said impatiently, “Whatever my mother and I discuss is none of your business. Leave!” Thea left awkwardly. Once I was sure she was gone, I carefully held Malia’s hand. “Mom, why were you sleeping on the staircase? And what happened to your face?” But Malia just shook her head fearfully, unwilling to say anything more. I could only change the subject. “Has Nicole visited you recently?” At the mention of my sister, Malia’s face froze for a moment, but she nodded. “Yes, Nicole visits me often.” Yet her expression didn’t soften at all as she said this. Seeing her like this, my heart sank. I suddenly realized that Malia wasn’t being properly cared for. If that was the case, I’d rather take an ordinary job and stay by Malia’s side to care for her myself.
I helped Malia back to her room to rest. On the way, I noticed she was limping badly, walking with great difficulty. It seemed she really needed a wheelchair. But I felt the wheelchair issue wasn’t so simple, so after Malia fell asleep, I decided to find the director to ask about it. The nursing home’s layout was confusing, and after walking for quite some time, I ended up near the kitchen. Nicole had handled our mother’s admission paperwork. She had exaggerated how wonderful this place was, but I hadn’t inspected it myself yet. Since I had the opportunity now, I decided to walk in and take a look. The kitchen wasn’t as clean as I had imagined. Garbage and dirty water were visible everywhere on the floor. The stoves were covered in grime, looking like they hadn’t been cleaned in ages. Mealtime at the nursing home was early, and several cooks had already started preparing food. When they saw me enter, they mistook me for a staff member, and one cook told me to hurry and take the prepared dishes to the dining hall. I was about to explain when I noticed the food intended for the elderly residents was placed right next to an opened bag of rat poison. I couldn’t contain my anger and pointed at the rat poison, demanding: “How can you put food for people next to rat poison?” The cook responded impatiently: “Better than finding rat droppings in their food, right? Besides, they’re about to die anyway, so what does it matter if they die from this?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “How can you be so cruel? Don’t you have parents of your own?” The cook immediately became angry and told me to get out, cursing me for meddling. Several people pushed me out of the kitchen, which made me even more furious. I immediately called Nicole. Suppressing my anger, I asked, “Nicole, have you been visiting Mom?” Nicole yawned, her tone dismissive: “Of course, I just visited Mom yesterday. This nursing home is so nice, I’d like to move in myself. Why do you always worry about so many things? Why don’t you give me more money so I can hire more people to take care of Mom?” Finding this ridiculous, I hung up and decided to take Malia away today. On my way back, I passed by the elderly residents’ lounge downstairs, where the scene once again infuriated me. An elderly man was tied to a wheelchair, crying out in pain, while a caregiver sat with legs crossed, browsing on her phone. When annoyed by the noise, the caregiver skillfully slapped the old man. Then she took a dirty diaper from a nearby trash can and pressed it directly against the old man’s face, forcibly silencing him. I couldn’t help but intervene: “What are you doing!” The caregiver heard my voice, immediately released her grip, and turned to look at me with terror on her face. I yanked her away and untied the ropes binding the old man to the wheelchair. While I was distracted, the caregiver quickly ran away, but I had already memorized her face. After being rescued, the old man continued sobbing. Seeing him made me wonder if my mother had suffered the same treatment. I immediately asked, “Do you know Malia who lives in Room 6100 on the sixth floor? Is this how caregivers normally treat all of you?” The old man struggled to speak: “I don’t know Malia. I only know there’s an elderly woman on the sixth floor whose son supposedly works for the government. Once I saw a caregiver beating her mercilessly with a clothes hanger. She was covered in blood.” I pressed further: “What about her family? Has no one ever visited her?” The old man tried hard to remember: “I think a wealthy-looking woman came yesterday. But it seemed like she was there to demand money from the old woman.” Hearing this, I had to clench my teeth to suppress my rage. I had transferred so much money to Nicole every month, asking her to look after our mother and buy her gifts. Was this how she was treating our mother? Finally, I called Calvin, the police officer waiting outside: “Calvin, come in. I need your help.” Calvin quickly found me using the tracker on my body. I said, “Calvin, please find a technician to retrieve all the surveillance footage from this nursing home over the past two Christmases.” I needed to gather crucial evidence for the police. This nursing home’s behavior was absolutely despicable, and I couldn’t let them off easily. The technician quickly sent over the videos. I located the footage from Room 6100 and witnessed something that filled me with rage. On the night Malia first moved into the nursing home, Thea dragged her to the bathroom and locked her inside just because Malia’s coughing had woken her up. As I continued watching, I discovered that Thea frequently beat and verbally abused Malia. Even when Malia cried and begged her to stop, she continued to assault the defenseless elderly woman. Not once did anyone intervene to stop this abuse. What broke my heart even more was that over the past Christmas season, my sister Nicole had only visited our mother once—yesterday. She even discarded her luxurious coat in disgust just because our mother had touched her sleeve. By the end of the footage, I was filled with rage and guilt. If I hadn’t taken time off to come back, I would never have known even if Malia had been tortured to death, and I would have continued sending them money. Our mother raised us, yet Nicole not only showed no gratitude but actively pushed her into this nightmare. I sent the surveillance footage to the mayor, then returned to the room to help Malia pack her belongings so I could take her home. Just as I reached the doorway, I heard Nicole’s shrill voice: “Why do you need so much pension money when you’re already living in a nursing home? Sign the papers now!” I burst into the room to see Nicole directing two male orderlies to restrain Malia and force her to sign. Malia’s face was streaked with tears, her hands trembling uncontrollably. Without thinking, I kicked the two men away. “Get away from my mom!” I shielded Malia behind me and glared at Nicole. “Is this how you take care of our mother when I’m not around?” Nicole looked terrified. “Bryson, why are you back so suddenly?” I roared, “If I hadn’t come back, what else would you have done to Mom? Steal her pension? You’re heartless!” She tried to defend herself: “I was just going to hold onto it for Mom’s sake.” I cut her off. “I’m taking Mom away from here, and I won’t give you another cent!” Nicole immediately panicked. “Bryson, have you lost your mind? Mom doesn’t have much time left. After she dies, this money will come to us anyway. What’s wrong with me taking some now?” I didn’t want to argue about such a ridiculous issue. I lifted Malia onto my back and prepared to leave. Then, I heard Nicole’s voice behind me: “That’s him! He’s causing trouble here. Don’t let him leave!” I felt disappointed and incredulous. Nicole had brought a group of thugs. She stood behind them, looking at me as if I were her enemy. Malia struggled to get down from my back, desperately trying to protect me. “Don’t hurt my son! Beat me instead if you must!” I held Malia tightly and stared coldly at Nicole. “Nicole, think carefully. If you do this, we’re no longer siblings.” Nicole stared back intensely. “You can leave, but only if Mom gives me the money.” “Absolutely not!” Nicole’s expression darkened. “Grab him. If he dies, I’ll take responsibility!” One man immediately lunged at me, but Calvin, who had been hiding nearby, suddenly appeared and pinned him to the ground. The group was startled by Calvin’s appearance and froze momentarily. Nicole quickly said, “Don’t be afraid. There are only three of them. Attack together!” With so many opponents, Calvin could only focus on protecting me. In my carelessness, I suddenly realized Malia was no longer on my back. I anxiously looked back and saw Nicole dragging Malia toward a window in the hallway. Malia, with tears in her eyes, said to her, “Nicole, I’m your mother…” “Only money is my mother!” Nicole snapped. As she finished speaking, the old security window behind Malia suddenly came loose. In the next second, Nicole, with a twisted expression, pushed Malia forward. Malia immediately fell out the window.
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