I gave my daughter the envelope before the christening started. It was from a neurologist, and it explained every fall they’d spent two years blaming on wine. The diagnosis showed that a medication I’d been taking since 2022 could cause the dizziness and confusion. My daughter read the report twice and asked why I’d never told her. I said, “Because you never asked me what was actually happening.” She looked through the rest of the papers, and then stopped at the pharmacy records. Eleven prescriptions had been collected on Sundays when I wasn’t there.
My son had always been the one telling everyone I was getting worse. He’d say I was drinking too much, forgetting appointments, and shouldn’t be driving anymore. The pharmacy records showed someone had been picking up my medication under my name. Eleven times, the same Sunday pattern. My daughter looked at the dates and realized they matched the mornings her brother had told her I was too drunk to come to family lunch. She asked him if he’d ever picked up my prescriptions. He said once. I placed the eleven receipts beside each other. His signature was on all of them.
Then I handed her the final page. The pharmacy had recorded a request to add my son as my emergency contact. He claimed he’d only done it because he was worried about me. I asked why he’d never told me, and why he’d spent two years telling everyone my falls were caused by alcohol instead of asking a doctor. He couldn’t answer. My daughter started crying and said she’d believed him because he was the one who always sounded concerned. I folded the papers back into the envelope and told her I hadn’t brought them to ruin her christening. I brought them because I was tired of being the only person in the family who knew I wasn’t imagining what was happening.
