The coffee in front of her went cold untouched while she opened her laptop. Then she remembered the documents. A few weeks earlier, after her surgery, Marc had asked her to sign several papers. He had said they were insurance forms, administrative precautions, “nothing serious, just in case.” He had been gentle. Too gentle. He had made her herbal tea, adjusted the pillows behind her, placed his hand over hers while she signed, still weak, dizzy from medication, her body aching and her mind blurred.
Back then, she had believed it was care. That night, when she found the scanned file in her email, she realized it may have been a trap. Five pages. Long legal wording. Complicated terms. And one title that made her blood run cold: Authentic Power of Attorney with Extensive Powers of Financial and Asset Management. Camille read it once, then again. Suddenly, the house no longer felt like home. The man sleeping upstairs no longer felt like her husband. And the trip she was supposed to take the next day no longer looked like work. It looked planned. An absence. Three days. Enough time to move an entire life.
