Her lawyer, Mr. Reynolds, began talking about marital assets.
“My son is dying,” I cut in. “Money can wait.”
When Amber finally looked at Daniel through the glass, her expression wasn’t grief.
It was fear.
Fear of losing control.
She accused me of overstepping. I showed the POA.
“Daniel signed this,” I said.
She claimed I manipulated him.
“He knew you,” I replied.
The next morning a hospital social worker, Carla, reviewed everything. Staff documented Amber’s minimal presence. Carla mentioned possible evaluation for neglect.
Amber panicked.
Then Daniel woke up.
His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, then landed on me.
“Mom,” he rasped after extubation.
“I’m here.”
When Amber leaned in and whispered, “Tell them to unfreeze the accounts,” I felt ice settle in my veins.
Even now, money first.
Daniel’s weak hand pulled away from hers.
That said everything.
Later, when I asked gently, “Do you want her here?” he whispered, “No.”
The hospital updated the board:
ALLOWED VISITORS: SUSAN HART
SPOUSE VISITS: RESTRICTED PER PATIENT REQUEST
Amber screamed in the hallway, but it no longer mattered.
Daniel had his voice back.