Then she said something that broke me. She told me that if Mom was still in that building when the doors closed, she would become a ward of the state. She told me I had to file for emergency guardianship before the deadline, or I would lose all say in her care. I asked her why nobody had warned me sooner. She didn’t have an answer.

I sat at my kitchen table, staring at the stack of papers I had brought home. I realized I had been the one to sign the authorizations. I had opened the door for them. I had been the good daughter, the one who signed whatever was in front of her because I didn’t want to be a nuisance.

I thought I was making things easier for Mom. I thought I was keeping the peace. Instead, I had handed them the keys to her life. Now I had two weeks to fix a disaster I had accidentally helped build.

I looked at the clock. It was time for me to go back and get her. I realized then that the irony was the sharpest part of the pain. I had spent all that time trying to make sure she was taken care of, and all I had really done was make sure she was trapped.