I’m 65 years old, and in the last few months I had been sleeping poorly. The doctor prescribed strong sleeping pills without which I couldn’t fall asleep. With those pills I fell into such a deep sleep that in the morning I barely understood what was happening around me. My wife always strictly made sure I took my dose, and my brother, who had been living with us since his wife died, constantly repeated that I needed “a solid rest.”
But over time, their care started to seem strange. They insisted too much, watched too attentively every sip I took. And one evening I simply forgot to bring water into the bedroom and went to the kitchen.
When I walked in, my wife and brother jerked away from each other sharply, as if I had caught them doing something forbidden.
— Why aren’t you asleep? — she asked, too tensely.
— Forgot water, — I replied.
I went back to the room, but sleep never came. Their fear was too obvious. I realized: they were hiding something, and it was connected specifically to me.
The next night I decided to pretend that I had taken the pills and was already asleep. I lay down, waited until they left the bedroom, then quietly got up and stepped into the hallway. I walked to the kitchen and carefully looked inside.
And what I saw there put me into real horror. 😱🫣 Continuation in the first comment 👇👇
My wife and brother were sitting at the table, but they weren’t drinking tea or discussing everyday things, as I expected. On the table in front of them lay some documents and a thick folder with a label. My wife was nervously flipping through the papers with trembling hands, and my brother was whispering something to her, pointing at lines in the document.
But the worst thing wasn’t that.
They were discussing me.
— How long will he stay out? — my wife asked, looking at my brother. — Are you sure these pills make him weaker, not stronger?
— I’m sure, — my brother replied. — It gets harder and harder for him to wake up. We need to finish everything before he suspects anything.
Inside me everything went cold. Finish what?
My wife opened the next folder. I squinted and almost gasped — inside was a copy of my will, the one I had signed a few years ago. And next to it — a new document, a forgery. The signature looked like mine, but it was clearly not done by me.
— Tomorrow we’ll show the notary the new version. He’ll believe it, — my brother said. — We’ll say his condition got worse and he asked me to help him arrange everything.
— The main thing is that he doesn’t start resisting, — added my wife. — Did you see how he came yesterday? I thought he noticed we were preparing.
My legs nearly gave out. I realized: they wanted to rewrite the house, the savings and my pension to themselves.
And then my wife asked the question that confirmed my worst fears:
— Are you sure his heart won’t withstand it if we continue giving him the double dose?
— It’s not supposed to withstand it, — my brother answered quietly. — It’s his own fault he’s lived too long.
Everything inside me tore apart. I slowly backed away from the door, trying not to breathe. They didn’t just want to deceive me — they wanted to bring me to death, under the guise of treatment.
I returned to the bedroom, lay down in bed and covered myself with a blanket, pretending to be asleep when I heard their approaching steps. My wife peeked into the room, quietly walked to the nightstand, and placed a glass of water with dissolved medication on it.
— Let him sleep deeply, — she whispered. — It won’t be much longer.
