The email also mentioned a high probability of permanent memory suppression.

The recipient was Nathan’s private email address.

My hand began to shake so hard that the glass vial clicked against my wedding ring.

Nathan was treating his own mother as a laboratory subject.

He was using an unapproved chemical to sedate her, right under our roof.

I looked at Eleanor, her chest rising and falling in a deep, unnatural sleep.

Her skin looked gray in the shadow of the headboard.

I turned the page again, looking for a date, any clue to how long this had been happening.

A progress note from last month caught my eye.

*Subject attempted to speak to Lily about the old house and the cellar,* Nathan had written.

*Dosage increased by two milligrams to ensure total compliance and silence.*

The word *silence* was underlined twice with black ink.

A chill ran down my spine, cold and sharp.

He wasn’t trying to heal her dementia.

He was keeping her quiet to protect whatever happened in that old house.

I heard a sudden noise downstairs—the heavy thud of the front door closing.