Armed with this new information, Tom and I arranged a meeting with Hannah at our father’s house. We needed to approach this delicately, conscious of the impact it could have on Dad’s health and peace of mind.
Hannah arrived punctually, her demeanor as calm and professional as ever. As we sat down at the kitchen table, I placed the folder of documents between us, a silent declaration of the conversation to come.
“We’ve discovered some things we need to discuss,” I began, keeping my tone steady. Hannah nodded, her expression unreadable. “There are financial arrangements and medical decisions that were made without our knowledge or consent.”
“Everything I’ve done has been in your father’s best interest,” she replied, her voice unwavering. “He trusts me to make these decisions.”
“But we’re his family,” Tom interjected, frustration evident in his voice. “We need to be involved in these decisions too.”
Hannah remained composed, her gaze steady. “If you feel there’s been a misunderstanding, I’m willing to correct it. But I assure you, my actions have always been to ensure his well-being.”
It was a diplomatic response, but it didn’t address the heart of the issue—her overreach and the erosion of trust.
We needed to decide our next steps, knowing that resolving this would take more than a single conversation.
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