I looked at her in disbelief, struggling to understand how anyone could speak so casually about an elderly woman who had always treated her with kindness. My mother had been awake since five that morning, carefully selecting her favorite blue cardigan and packing a small bag with her medical records, medications, and a bottle of water.
The previous evening, she had even baked Vanessa’s favorite banana bread. She had wrapped two slices separately because she remembered that my wife sometimes skipped breakfast before going out with her friends.
“It’s all right, David,” Mom whispered, gently resting her hand on my arm. “We can reschedule. I don’t want to cause trouble between you two.”
