The door swung open.
Dorothy was sitting on the floor beside several cardboard boxes.
Her face was pale, and one hand was wrapped tightly around her ankle.
An overturned wooden stool lay nearby.
"Oh, Dorothy."
I knelt beside her.
"Are you all right? What happened?"
She grimaced.
"I was trying to reach something on the top shelf."
I glanced at the stool.
"You climbed on that?"
"I know. It was foolish."
"How long have you been down here?"
"I'm not sure."
She looked toward the door.
"When I fell, it swung shut. The latch caught, and I couldn't reach it."
I felt sick.
She had been trapped in her own basement, unable to stand.
"Why didn't you call me?"
"My phone is upstairs."
"Where is Alex?"
"He went to the pharmacy."
My expression hardened.
"He left you alone?"
Dorothy frowned.
"Greta, he only went to pick up my prescription."
Before I could say anything else, the sound of the front door opening echoed upstairs.
Then came hurried footsteps.
"Dot?" a young man's voice called.
It was Alex.
I stood.
"Down here!"
His footsteps thundered toward the basement.
When he appeared in the storage-room doorway and saw Dorothy on the floor, his face went white.
The pharmacy bag slipped from his hand.
"Dot?"
He dropped to his knees.
"What happened?"
"I fell," Dorothy said.
Alex looked from the overturned stool to her swollen ankle.
His breathing became uneven.
"I was gone twenty minutes," he whispered.
I couldn't stop myself.
"That was long enough."
He flinched, but he didn't argue.
Instead, he turned back to Dorothy.
"Can you move your foot?"
"Not without pain."
"Okay. Don't try."
He pulled a folded blanket from a nearby shelf and carefully positioned it beneath her injured leg without forcing her ankle to move.
Then he took her hand.
"Stay with me, Dot. Help is coming."
"I haven't gone anywhere," she muttered.
His eyes filled with tears.
"I know."
"Then stop looking at me like I'm about to disappear."
That was when I noticed his expression.
It wasn't the look of someone annoyed that his plans had been interrupted.
It wasn't impatience or anger.
It was genuine fear.
He looked like someone terrified of losing a person he loved.
I took out my phone and called emergency services.
Chapter 5: Questions Nobody Wanted to Answer
The paramedics arrived quickly.
After examining Dorothy, they determined that she appeared to have a significant ankle sprain, although further evaluation was necessary to confirm there was no fracture or other injury.
Because of her age and the fall, they recommended a medical assessment.
Dorothy protested almost immediately.
"I'm not made of glass," she complained.
One of the paramedics smiled.
"No one said you were."
Alex crouched beside her while they prepared to help her.
"Please let them check you properly," he said.
Dorothy looked at him.
Then she sighed.
"You're both becoming impossible."
I accompanied her for the evaluation, and Alex followed separately.
Fortunately, the medical assessment found no broken bones or major injury, although Dorothy would need time, rest, and assistance while her ankle healed.
By the time we returned to her house, the sun had begun setting.
Dorothy was exhausted.
I helped her settle into her favorite chair while Alex brought water and arranged pillows nearby.
For a few moments, nobody spoke.
Then I turned to him.
"We need to talk."
Alex looked at Dorothy.
She nodded.
"Yes," she said quietly. "We do."
I folded my arms.
"I want to understand exactly what has been happening here."
Alex remained silent.
I continued.
"Dorothy stopped answering my calls. You have a key to her house. You've been staying overnight. She barely leaves home anymore, and the messages coming from her phone don't sound like her."
Dorothy lowered her eyes.
"That's because I didn't write them."
My stomach dropped.
I stared at Alex.
He immediately raised his hands.
"She asked me to send them."
"Why would she do that?"
"Because I didn't want you worrying," Dorothy said.
"Well, that plan didn't work."
She winced.
"I can see that."
I pulled a chair closer.
"Dorothy, please. Just tell me what's going on."
She looked at Alex again.
The young man gave her a small, encouraging nod.
Then she took a deep breath.
"It started with a package."
I glanced at the parcel I had left on her kitchen table.
"What kind of package?"
Dorothy hesitated.
"Personal medical supplies."
Her voice became softer.
"I ordered some things I needed, and when Alex delivered them, the cardboard box broke open on the porch."
I waited.
She looked embarrassed.
"Everything spilled out."
Alex spoke gently.
"It was an accident. The packaging had been damaged."
Dorothy nodded.
"I wanted the ground to swallow me."
She had always valued her independence.
Growing older had already forced her to accept changes she didn't like discussing.
Certain everyday tasks had become more difficult. Some personal health needs required equipment or supplies she never imagined she would need.
None of those things was shameful.
But Dorothy had grown up in a generation that often kept such matters private.