Linda agreed. They walked slowly; Evelyn held her arm and counted steps, as always. At one corner she missed the uneven curb and fell to her knees on the asphalt.
No one stopped. People walked around them like they were furniture.
Only Linda helped her up.
“I’m still here,” she whispered. “You’re not alone.”
At church, Evelyn knelt before the altar.
“Father… can you pray for my son?”
“What’s his name?”
“Dr. Ethan Carter.”
The priest didn’t recognize it. He nodded politely and walked away.
Evelyn prayed anyway—for the son who erased her from his life.
When they returned, Evelyn felt something wrong.
Her few clothes were thrown on the dirt in the yard—three blouses, the skirt, even her rosary, dusty.
“What happened?” Evelyn asked, feeling the ground with her hands.
Ruth appeared. “They were in the way. I put them where they won’t bother anyone.”
Evelyn said nothing. She gathered each piece in silence, wiped the rosary clean, and pressed it to her chest.
Three days later, Evelyn started coughing. First dry, then fever—low but persistent. Linda cared for her with homemade tea and cool cloths.
“You need a doctor.”
“We don’t have money.”
“We’ll figure something out.”