ONE DECEMBER MORNING, my mother's phone rang. She tugged the iPhone from the holster she kept clipped to the waist of her jeans and wondered who might be calling. Perhaps someone from church was checking in on her recovery from the coronavirus. "Hello?" she said.
The voice that greeted her sounded concerned. "Someone has access to your bank accounts through Amazon, and they can take all your money," he told her. "I'm calling to help."
Her mind raced. Oh Lord, she prayed silently. Oh Lord, give me strength. The voice was warm and reassuring, and my mom tried to focus closely on his words. My dad was driving to work, and she was home alone. She had been cooped up in the house for weeks with COVID-19, isolated from her community, and she missed the balm of a friendly voice.
She tried to steady herself. The man said he needed information to make sure the money was safe. He transferred her to a different male voice again soothing, reassuring, calm.
She promised not to hang up. A brain injury decades earlier made it hard for her to follow his instructions, but she tried.
The voice explained slowly, carefully, how to swipe and tap on her phone until she had installed an app that allowed him to see what was happening on her screen. Now he followed her every move.
After some hours, she mentioned she had to relieve herself. "It's OK. I'll stay on the line," he said. She parked the phone outside the bathroom and picked it back up when she was done.
As noon approached, she told him, "I have to eat."
"I'll wait. It's OK. Don't hang up, or we'll lose all our progress."
She set the phone down on the counter to make a sandwich, then pulled some chips from a cabinet and padded over to the kitchen table.
この記事は Reader's Digest US の November 2022 版に掲載されています。
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この記事は Reader's Digest US の November 2022 版に掲載されています。
7 日間の Magzter GOLD 無料トライアルを開始して、何千もの厳選されたプレミアム ストーリー、9,000 以上の雑誌や新聞にアクセスしてください。
すでに購読者です? サインイン
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