I visited my mom at her nursing home, as I did every weekend, banana bread and warm sweater in hand. But the receptionist looked puzzled. “She was discharged last week,” she said. My heart dropped. “I didn’t discharge her.”

The records said her daughter took her—but the name wasn’t mine. It was Lauren. My estranged sister who disappeared ten years ago after a bitter fallout with Mom. She never responded when I told her about Mom’s dementia.

Now, she had taken our mother without warning. I searched everywhere. Her phone was disconnected, Facebook gone. Then I found an Instagram account: “The Sunrise Caregiver.” A photo of Lauren, smiling, holding our confused mother’s hand. The caption: “Caring for the woman who gave me life. #FamilyFirst.”

She even started a crowdfunding campaign—accusing me of neglect. I gathered everything: visitor logs, care notes, photos, and a voicemail from Mom saying, “You’re the only one who visits, honey.”

We went to court. Lauren cried, but the judge believed the truth. I was granted emergency guardianship.

That afternoon, Mom whispered, “You came.” She may forget, but I won’t. I’ll keep showing up. Because love remembers—even when memory fades.