Eight years ago, I moved south. I told myself it was for work, for sunshine—but the truth was, I was exhausted. Exhausted by the late-night calls, the endless appointments, the slow heartbreak of watching someone fade. I convinced myself professional care would be better for her. That was the lie I told myself so I could sleep at night.
On January 17, the facility called Tom. Mom had fallen and needed X-rays. He said he was tied up in meetings. When they mentioned the $800 ambulance fee, he refused. Then he called me—to vent. I told him to handle it as he saw fit and hung up.
No one came.
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