For three years, my mother screamed whenever a caregiver tried to bathe her.
“Don’t touch me there!”
My brother claimed she was only seeking attention.
He barely visited.
But one young caregiver finally earned her trust.
Then, one rainy morning, while gently washing my mother’s back, she froze.
Beneath the scars my mother had carried for forty years was a secret so horrifying that it would change everything.
PART 1
“Don’t you dare touch my back!”
“Get your hands off me, or I swear to God I’ll scream until the police get here!”
Margaret Holloway’s voice echoed through the halls of Willow Creek Senior Residence.
A nurse stopped pushing her medication cart.
Two residents looked up from breakfast.
Even the maintenance man in the hallway froze.
Everyone knew that voice.
Margaret had lived at Willow Creek for almost three years.
She was seventy-six years old.
She still walked without a cane.
