Diane stayed in bed believing her son was simply busy with work, and every time she asked about him I felt something tighten in my chest because I was the one holding together a truth she could not yet see. Despite everything she had said to me over the years, every criticism about how I cooked, cleaned, or lived, I still cared for her because I could not abandon someone who depended on me.
A week later, I made a decision that felt inevitable rather than dramatic. I called Victor and asked calmly, “Are you free, because I am bringing your mother to you so you can take care of her,” and he hung up without answering.
That afternoon I cleaned Diane gently, dressed her in fresh clothes, packed every medication, hospital record, cream, pad, and instruction into a canvas bag, and helped her into her wheelchair while smiling softly.
I told her, “I am taking you to Victor’s place for a few days because a change of scenery will be good for you,” and her eyes lit up with quiet hope.