My son promised to care for me, then handed me off to my daughter-in-law, who left me at a nursing home like forgotten luggage. That’s when I knew: if they played dirty, so could I.
I hadn’t been young for a while, but that day I felt it not in the mirror, but in my fingers, when I couldn’t open a jar of pickles.
“Well, Linda. You’re not twenty anymore.Not even forty. You know what’s worse? Admitting you need help.”
I never liked asking for things.
Especially from Thomas. He was a good son, honestly. Just… always busy.