After retiring, I had no choice but to go live with my stepson. One thing he said shattered me, and I broke down in tears.
In the hospital room, I watched the elderly woman in the bed next to mine being served by her son and daughter-in-law. She complained about the soup being too bland and the vegetables lacking flavor. Annoyed, she rang the nurse call button and asked them to bring her a takeaway from the front desk.
When the elderly woman overheard me, she smiled and asked, "Sweetie, it seems like your kids aren't around? How about you have some of our meal? Eating takeout all the time isn't good for you."
I forced a smile. "Thank you, but I actually like takeout. It suits my taste."
I could barely believe my own words. For the sake of my damn pride, I'd learned to lie at this age.
Her words reminded me of something I read online: when you're young, you compete in wealth and beauty, but when you're older, it's all about your health.
I sighed.
The nurse handed me my takeout and helped me adjust the bed’s eating tray.
The meal was greasy and overly heavy, and after just two bites, I lost my appetite.
Looking over at the elderly woman’s picky behavior, I felt a twinge of resentment. People just don’t know how good they have it.
By now, the elderly woman had finished her meal and smiled at me. "Sweetie, why hasn’t your son come to see you?"
I almost wanted to say, "Didn't you just ask that?"
But seeing her surrounded by family, and my own solitude, I decided against it.
She clearly wasn't done with me, though, and launched into a bragging session about her son: "My son, though not much to speak of, is always there when I need him. If I have a headache or anything, he’ll rush me to the hospital and take care of me. Sweetie, don’t you think that’s what matters most as we get older?"
I thought about how just yesterday she was cursing her daughter-in-law, and fell silent.
After a moment, I realized she must’ve thought my silence was boring, because she stopped trying to talk to me.
I sighed in relief.
Suddenly, a notification popped up on Facebook from my best friend, Helen Hart.
I clicked on the voice message, and Helen's voice filled my ears. "Clara, listen to me, don’t you dare go to a retirement home. I spent a year there last year, and let me tell you, it was money wasted. The costs were high, but the experience... I don’t ever want to go back. If I didn’t have the nerve to ask my nephew to take care of me, I would still be there."
Helen had always been child-free by choice, living a life with her husband until he passed away two years ago. She was left alone and ended up in a retirement home, but after just one year, she took out a large sum of money and asked her nephew to care for her.
I felt a mix of emotions as I listened, then sighed and replied to Helen’s message: I don’t want to either, but after my fall, the thought of living alone scares me.
Helen’s reply came quickly: "Then why not hire a caregiver?"
I typed back: "24-hour caregivers are too expensive. My savings are neither too much nor too little, and I don't know how long I’ll live."
It was the truth.
At that moment, I was deeply grateful that I had only fractured a bone, instead of being diagnosed with a serious illness that required long-term care.
Otherwise, I honestly wouldn’t know how to get through this.
Helen: "Well, you could ask your stepson?"
My hand froze over my phone.
Ask Owen?
Owen was my stepson. Though I tried my best to raise him, after his father passed away, my relationship with him became... complicated.
I hesitated to ask, but if I didn’t, I would have to go back home alone after being discharged...
I turned restlessly in bed.
