Sophie’s door opened slowly. A figure entered, moving carefully, almost cautiously. The dim night light revealed thin shoulders, silver hair, and a familiar nightgown.
It was my mother in law, Evelyn Parker.
She walked to Sophie’s bed, lifted the blanket gently, and slid under it beside my daughter. Sophie shifted in her sleep and pressed toward the edge of the mattress. Evelyn placed a hand on Sophie’s arm, as though soothing a child, and stared up at the ceiling with empty eyes.
I stood frozen in the kitchen, my hand covering my mouth so I would not scream.
Evelyn had lived with us for three years. She was seventy eight, widowed for decades, and had raised Ryan alone after his father died in a car accident. She had worked in diners, cleaned offices, and mended clothing at home to support her son. Ryan often told me stories of coming home to find her sewing by dim lamp light, saving every dollar so he could attend college. She had been his world.