The next morning, after Daniel left for work, I went straight to the pharmacy.
I bought soothing lotion, clean towels, and soft fabric cloths. Then I knocked gently on Margaret’s door.
“Mom,” I said softly, “let me help you tonight. You’ve done enough — it’s my turn.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, then filled with tears.
“Oh, Emily… thank you, dear.”
That night, for the first time in three years, Daniel stayed in our bed. He took my hand and whispered,
“Thank you for understanding.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see what you were carrying all this time,” I murmured.
He pulled me close, holding me as if to say everything was finally all right. The room felt warmer than it had in years.
