I whispered, mostly to myself, “Let him call me weak now.”
It took Daniel three days to call.
The first two times I let it ring. On the third, curiosity won. Or perhaps not curiosity. Readiness.
“Mom,” he said the instant I answered, and his voice was softer than usual, almost bruised. “I think there’s been some confusion.”
Confusion.
The favorite word of guilty people when they still hope to avoid consequence.
I said nothing.
He filled the silence with a dramatic exhale.
“Melissa and I were just trying to make sure things would be handled in case something happened to you. You know how forgetful you’ve been lately.”
There are insults that barely graze you, and then there are the ones that work because they are built from fears you already carry in private.
Forgetful.
Of course I had forgotten things. Who doesn’t at seventy-two? I had walked into rooms and paused, wondering why. Misplaced my reading glasses while wearing them. Repeated stories. Called Grace by my younger sister’s name once when she was standing in a doorway with the same impatient tilt to her head.
