I woke to the slam of a door and voices rising downstairs. The clock on the nightstand read 6:00 a.m.—too early to get up by choice, too late to fall back asleep. I sat up slowly, feeling my joints creak.
The arthritis had been worse these last three days, but I tried not to show it. “Grandma?” Lily’s small voice drifted up from the first floor. “Are you awake?
Mom says she’s running late and you need to take us to school.”
I sighed. Of course Meredith was late. When had my daughter not been late?
And of course I would pick up the fallen pieces again—aching joints, sleepless night, and all. “Coming, sweetie,” I called, trying to keep my voice bright. In the bathroom I splashed water on my face and studied my reflection: sixty‑two years old, wrinkles, gray hair, tired eyes.
Inside, I still felt like the woman who used to dream of being a photographer, of traveling, of seeing the world. Those dreams had been shelved for a husband and a daughter. With Howard gone, all that seemed to remain were responsibilities.
I swallowed a pain pill and dressed. My closet held practical clothes with no frills—Meredith’s house had little room for luxuries like my personality. In the kitchen, ten‑year‑old Lily and eight‑year‑old Joshua sat at the table, staring at their tablets while cereal softened in milk.
“Good morning, darlings,” I said, kissing their heads. “Where’s your mom?”
“In her room,” Joshua mumbled, eyes fixed on his screen. “On the phone.”
That was familiar.
Meredith Bonham, head of marketing at a tech company, was always handling a crisis in a sharp, high‑pitched tone—energy and pressure that lifted her career and frayed home life. “Finish your breakfast?” I asked, already knowing. “I don’t want to,” they chorused.
“Then let’s get backpacks,” I said. While they hunted for books and folders, Meredith swept into the kitchen—tall, slender, perfect hair and makeup, a flawless suit, beautiful as always and irritated as usual. “Mom, will you take them?
I have a meeting in forty minutes, and sales messed up again.”
“Sure, honey.” I hesitated. “Just—”
“Just what?” She didn’t look up, thumbs flying over her phone. “I’m not feeling well today.
The arthritis—”
She rolled her eyes. “Mom, you find a new ailment every day. Your back, your heart, your joints.
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