Two days later, the next escalation pulled into my driveway in a van marked Adult Care Services.
A social worker stepped out—Janet Torres—clipboard in hand.
“Mrs. Sterling,” she said professionally, “we received a report of potential self-neglect and possible exploitation. I need to conduct a welfare check.”
My son had called Adult Protective Services on me.
The viciousness took my breath away, but I didn’t show it. I’d been in too many negotiations to let anger drive the steering wheel.
“Of course,” I said calmly. “Come in.”
Janet’s inspection was thorough. She checked food supplies, medications, living conditions, mental state, financial arrangements. She found a well-maintained home, a competent woman, and a business operation documented down to the receipt.
When she asked who filed the report, I told her the truth.
“My son,” I said. “He’s angry I refused to let him use my home as a free resort. When I declined, he threatened nursing homes. Now he’s involving the government.”
Janet’s expression hardened.
“Are you saying the report was filed maliciously?” she asked.
“I’m saying,” I replied, “it was filed by someone who views my independence as an inconvenience.”