At breakfast, I tried to steady my voice. “Olivia, dear, what happened to your hand?”
Daniel came in then, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “See, Mom? My wife’s clumsy,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Olivia smiled too, but her eyes were full of fear — the same look I used to wear.
4. A Mother’s Choice
That night, I lay awake replaying every moment — the bruise, the slap, the trembling silence. I had lived that same nightmare once, long ago, too afraid to leave, too scared to speak. I had promised myself that if I ever saw it again, I would not stay silent.
By morning, I had made my choice.
When they sat down for breakfast, I looked at my son and said calmly, “Daniel, I think it’s time I move into an assisted living home. I have friends there, and it might be better for everyone.”
He frowned. “Are you sure, Mom?”
“Yes, son. It’s time,” I said.
Olivia looked at me with wide, tearful eyes. When Daniel left the room to take a call, I held her hands tightly and whispered, “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. I know everything.”
