“The food must be ready on time,” he told me when I could no longer get up from the floor — and then suddenly turned pale

“Crawl on your stomach if you want, but dinner for the whole family must be on the table on time!” Phyllis shouted at me and pushed the crutches so far away with the tip of her foot that reaching them by hand became impossible.

I was sitting on the cold kitchen tiles and simply looking at them for several seconds. Both my legs were encased in heavy plaster from the toes to the knees. Only five days had passed since the accident. The doctor had strictly warned me not to put weight on my legs, to get out of bed only when absolutely necessary, and to always have someone beside me.

Phyllis was not interested in the doctor’s words at all.

“People will come at six in the evening,” she told me and dropped a sack of flour on the table. “You have to bake the pie. Everyone knows that nobody can make yours.”

“Phyllis, I cannot even stand,” I answered quietly. “The discharge papers are in the bag. Read them yourself.”

She chuckled and hit my bag. The small silver pendant that I always fastened to the handle of the bag fell onto the floor. Inside it I kept a tiny photograph of my mother. My heart contracted when I saw it.

“You always exaggerate,” Phyllis said. “You had an accident five days ago and you are already home. That means you are not that badly off.”

My phone had disappeared that morning. When I asked about it, she told me that I needed rest and would hide me from everyone. Marcus, meanwhile, had flown to Chicago at dawn. Before leaving, he left water, medicine, and a bell beside the bed.

“Trust Mother,” he told me and kissed my forehead. “She will take care of everything until the end of the week.”

His mother was smiling then as if she had given me the greatest gift.

Ten minutes after the door closed, her face changed.

“Guests are coming,” she told me. “And I am not going to explain to everyone why my daughter-in-law is sitting uselessly.”

Now steam filled the kitchen, the oven was humming, and I was reaching for a spoon with my hand to take an egg for the dough. My knees hurt as if they were being crushed from the inside. Yet Phyllis stood over me and watched every one of my movements.

“Quickly, Clara. The guests will come at six.”

“Bring me the crutches.”

“The pie first.”

At that moment the entrance door opened and Sarah came in. She was holding a tray full of sweets. She stopped in the doorway as if she had seen a dangerous animal in the room.

“Aunt Phyllis, what are you doing?” Her voice trembled. “Clara cannot stand at all!”

“Do not interfere in family business,” Phyllis snarled at her.

Sarah looked at my plaster, then at the crutches thrown far away, and her expression changed.

“Does Marcus know that you treat her like this here?”

Phyllis bent toward me.

“If you call my son, I will tell him that you made a scene in front of the guests.”

“Where is my phone?” I asked.

“I am protecting your safety.”

Sarah put the tray on the table and came toward me. Just then Phyllis stepped on my silver pendant. The little chain stretched, the frame of the photograph cracked, and my mother’s face split into two.

Something inside me broke.

“Sarah,” I whispered, “there is a black device in the inner pocket of the bag. Take it out and do not turn it off.”

Phyllis immediately looked at me.

“What device?”

Sarah bent toward the bag, and for the first time I saw her confident smile disappear. Her hand shot toward the bag with lightning speed, but Sarah was already taking out the small recorder, and Phyllis grabbed her wrist…

Phyllis’s fingers clutched Sarah’s wrist so tightly that the tray fell onto the floor.

“Let her go!” I shouted.

“This house is mine,” Phyllis whispered. “Here I decide who touches what.”

Sarah pulled her hand free and pressed the recorder to her chest.

“I will call Marcus.”

“You cannot call from your phone,” Phyllis said. “I have that too.”

At that very moment the sound of car brakes came from outside. Phyllis rushed to the window, but Sarah ran toward the door. A few seconds later our neighbor, Mr. Haley, entered the house. He was holding my phone.

“I found this by your mailbox,” he told me. “And this recording was sent to someone.”

The color disappeared from Phyllis’s face.

I turned on the phone. Only one new message, from an unknown number, was visible on the screen.

“Clara, if you see this, call the police immediately. I already know everything.”

Sarah froze.

“Who sent it to you?”

I did not have time to answer. A heavy blow sounded at the door. Again. Then someone shouted:

“Police! Open the door!”

Phyllis turned toward me and saw for the first time that I was no longer trembling. I pressed my finger on the recording button. The sound of her own voice filled the room…

The sound of her own voice filled the room.

“Marcus will sign everything if he thinks Clara will not endure it. First the house, then the accounts. And the accident will be a good lesson for her.”

Phyllis looked as if she had been slapped. Sarah covered her mouth with her hand, while Mr. Haley looked toward the door, where the police officers were already entering.

“Turn that off!” Phyllis shouted.

“I cannot,” I answered. “The recording has already been sent.”

Police Officer Lawrence knelt beside me and first examined my legs, then looked at Phyllis.

“Ma’am, who is responsible for the injured person here?”

“I am her mother-in-law,” Phyllis said. “She is psychologically unstable and lies to everyone.”

Sarah immediately opened the bag and handed the black recorder to the officer.

“This is not only today’s recording,” she said. “Clara told me that she had kept the device on all week.”

Lawrence did not put handcuffs on Phyllis. He only asked for her identification and phone first. Then he turned toward me.

“Clara, do you know why the unknown number called you?”

I shook my head.

The officer opened a folder and took out a white sheet of paper.

“Your accident did not happen by chance. The car’s braking system was deliberately damaged. The technician sent us a report yesterday.”

Phyllis exhaled loudly.

“This is nonsense!”

“Then why did you pay for the repair with cash?” the officer asked.

Her lips froze.

Sarah leaned toward me.

“Clara, did you know about this?”

“No,” I said. “I only knew that one day before the accident Marcus asked me to sign insurance documents. I refused because I had not read the papers.”

The officer opened a second folder.

“It was in those documents that there was a form for changing the beneficiary of the house and your life insurance. The signature is forged.”

Phyllis grabbed the chair.

“I did nothing. Marcus thought of everything.”

My chest tightened as if I had plaster wrapped around it too.

“Marcus?”

“He needed money,” Phyllis said quickly. “He had debts. I was only helping.”

At that moment my phone rang. Marcus’s name appeared on the screen. Silence fell.

I turned on the call speaker.

“Mother, say that you found the recording,” Marcus’s voice said. “Do not tell Clara anything. If she talks to the police, we will both go to prison.”

Marcus was silent for several seconds, then said again:

“And if she survives, the next accident must be more convincing.”

The call ended.

Phyllis lowered her eyes. Sarah began to cry. And I felt a calm that comes only when the most terrible suspicion has already turned into words.

But Lawrence looked at the phone and quietly told me:

“This call will be enough to arrest him. However, Marcus is already at the airport and he knows that his mother contacted us. Now he has only one way left…”