When I left town for work, I trusted my husband to care for my mother, who was battling cancer. But when I came home early and found her sleeping on a thin mattress in the hallway, shivering under a single blanket, I couldn’t believe my eyes. How could he be so cruel?
I never thought I’d be writing something like this, but it still feels like a bad dream. My name is Julia, I’m 41 years old, married, with one daughter who recently left home for college. For the first time in years, our house felt strangely quiet.
I tried to enjoy it, cooking smaller meals and walking in the evenings with my husband, Daniel, but deep down I missed my daughter’s presence and the energy she brought to our home. Then came the news that turned my world upside down. My mother was diagnosed with cancer.
She started chemotherapy, and anyone who has seen that treatment knows how brutal it can be. I wanted to be her anchor, her support, and the one who made sure she didn’t have to face it alone. So, I told Daniel I wanted to bring her to our house for a while.
Now, for context, Daniel and my mom were never close. They weren’t enemies exactly, but from the very beginning, something just never clicked between them. My mom is one of the kindest people I know.
She’s the type who remembers every birthday and who listens without judgment when life gets messy. But for some reason, Daniel always kept her at arm’s length, and the feeling seemed mutual. They clashed on almost everything, including how to spend holidays and how to raise our daughter.
Mom thought Daniel could be too arrogant and dismissive, while Daniel thought Mom was too opinionated and meddling. Despite what they felt about each other, they were polite and cordial during family dinners. My daughter, Sophie, adores her grandmother and would run into her arms the moment she walked in the door, and that bond alone often kept the peace between them.
But when the doctor finally gave us the diagnosis, it felt like the floor had dropped from under me. It was a crushing blow. My mom and I have always been close, and the thought of watching her suffer through something so devastating broke me in ways I can’t even put into words.
The doctor told me clearly that during chemotherapy, she would need support and supervision. He told me that the treatments would leave her weak, disoriented, and sometimes unable to take care of herself. Someone had to be there, day in and day out.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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