Chapter 7 - Claire’s version of love
Claire visited me more than Victor after my infection.
That made what happened harder.
She brought soup.
Bought slippers.
Sat beside me during physical therapy.
She also photographed my pill bottles.
Asked about insurance.
Opened mail without permission.
Called my banker once pretending she was helping me “organize.”
I noticed.
I objected.
She cried.
“Why do you treat me like a stranger?”
Because she was not a stranger, I relaxed again.
That was how boundary erosion worked.
Claire’s resentment toward me was older than illness.
She believed I favored Eli.
She was not entirely wrong.
Not financially.
Emotionally.
Eli and I could sit in a room without performing.
Claire often arrived needing proof.
Did I like her dress?
Did I appreciate the dinner?
Did I think she was as capable as Victor?
Did I think she had sacrificed enough?
As a mother, I had answered poorly.
Claire had been the child most similar to me.
Controlled.
Proud.
Sensitive to status.
We clashed because I recognized my worst instincts wearing better shoes.
Still, none of that explained leaving me on concrete.
Her police interview eventually included one revealing sentence.
“She kept acting like we were thieves.”
Investigators asked:
“Were you asking her to sign financial documents?”
“Yes.”
“Did she refuse?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do after?”
Claire said:
“I got angry.”
“Did you tip the wheelchair?”
Pause.
“I moved it.”
“Backward?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know she could not safely stand?”
“Yes.”
“Did you intend her to fall?”
“No.”
Maybe true.
May you like
She intended intimidation.
The body absorbed the difference.
