By the time I finished the third IV drip, I shakily dialed Owen’s number.
“Hello, Mom!” The phone was quickly picked up.
I forced a smile and said, “Owen, it’s me. How have you been? Everything okay?”
“We’re fine, Mom. Is there something you need? If not, I’m hanging up, I’m at work right now,” Owen's voice was laced with impatience.
I sensed the coldness in his tone, and my nervousness deepened, my breathing quickening.
“I… I…”
“Mom, if you need something, just say it. I don’t have much time,” he urged, cutting me off.
I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and finally asked, “Owen, I was wondering if I could come stay with you for a while, have you take care of me? Is that okay?”
My voice dwindled to a whisper by the end, almost silent.
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
I held my breath, waiting for his answer, feeling like a guilty person awaiting judgment.
“Mom, it’s not that I wouldn’t be okay with it, but things are a bit complicated right now. Maybe in a little while…” Owen finally spoke, his voice uncertain.
My heart sank, and panic gripped me. “Then…”
At that moment, the nurse entered and interrupted me. “Mrs. Wells, your IV is finished. I’ll change your dressing now.”
I nodded distractedly and, with a hint of a choke in my voice, said, “Owen, I have to go, I’ll talk to you later.”
Before he could respond, I hung up the phone.
A minute later, Owen called back.
I stared blankly at the screen, torn between answering and avoiding it.
“Mrs. Wells, your phone is ringing,” the nurse, who was changing my dressing, kindly pointed out.
I smiled weakly and answered the call.
“Mom, are you in the hospital?” Owen’s voice was rapid.
I could almost hear the annoyance in his tone.
Is he frustrated because I’m bothering him?
Or does he worry I’m calling for money?
I instinctively started to deny it. “No, I’m not…”
The nurse beside me sighed and spoke up, “Mrs. Wells, I’m sure that’s your son. Don’t hide it anymore. With your condition, it’s really better for you to have someone taking care of you.”
Clearly, Owen heard her.
“Mom, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
I hesitated and answered cautiously, “It’s nothing serious, just a fall, a few minor injuries. Don’t worry about me, you guys are busy… I’ll have a nurse help me soon.”
“What hospital are you at?” Owen interrupted.
“Mercy Hospital.”
“Orthopedics?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing, just a small injury. It’s fine, I’m getting my dressing changed. Go ahead and take care of your own things,” I rushed to end the conversation.
The nurse was clearly upset on my behalf. “Mrs. Wells, with your situation, why don’t you just tell your son? Isn’t the whole point of having children to take care of you in your old age?”
I smiled faintly. “They’re busy. I don’t want to cause them trouble.”
“Ah, you really have the heart of a parent. Well, I’ve finished with your dressing. If you need anything, just press the call button.”
After the nurse left, I lay down and pulled the blanket over my face.
Children are supposed to take care of their parents in their old age.
A parent’s heart is boundless.
Tears fell silently.
In truth, I envied the elderly woman in the bed next to mine.
But I can’t.
Owen is my stepson.
I married Marcus Wells when I was thirty-two.
Before that, I had been married once.
I married for love, but after three years, I still couldn’t get pregnant. After visiting the doctor, I found out it was my problem.
When I returned home, my ex-husband handed me the divorce papers and stormed out.
I cried all night and then signed the papers.
And just like that, we went our separate ways.
Because I couldn’t have children, when I considered remarriage, I lacked the confidence I once had.
Through a mutual acquaintance, I met Marcus.
Marcus’ first wife had passed away two years ago, and he hadn’t remarried. He had a five-year-old son.
My mom urged me to say yes, saying Marcus had great conditions, and his child was a perfect match for me.
I finally agreed.
And so, I became Owen’s stepmother.
I tried to be a good mother, putting my heart into educating him.
But the boy never really warmed up to me.
Over time, I grew disheartened. I stopped trying so hard to get close, keeping a distance but still showing I cared.
Eventually, we found a way to get along.
When Owen married, Marcus and I used part of our savings to pay for their down payment. Life felt somewhat complete after that.
But a year ago, Marcus passed away after a long illness, and since then, I’ve been left alone.
Marcus’s illness drained most of our savings, but fortunately, I still have my pension.
I’ve spent a year living alone, and I’ve come to understand the loneliness that comes with old age.
Owen and his wife Lydia live in a neighboring city, and since his father passed away, they’ve come home less and less.
Though Owen and I are technically mother and son, we’re distant, never really close. We hardly video call, let alone talk like normal mother and son.
I’ve imagined countless ways to spend my old age, but never did I think I’d end up like this at sixty.
In truth, sixty is not old at all.
But it’s my lonely heart that’s aging.
What’s truly painful is eating alone, sleeping alone, washing dishes alone, cooking alone, watching TV alone, talking to myself.
I have a few friends, but everyone has their own life, and no one can stay with you all the time.
Some friends advised me to find someone else.
But at my age, what’s the point of finding another? To be a caretaker? I’ve heard enough stories online about elderly marriages that end in illness and misery without any happy endings. Even though I’m lonely now, I don’t want to find myself in a more miserable situation. Besides, when Marcus was alive, we had a happy marriage. He only passed away a year ago, and I can’t possibly remarry.
I’ve also hired a home caregiver before, the kind that charges by the hour. It’s expensive, and it’s hard to find someone who’s genuinely willing to listen. So I stopped.
This time, I fell, broke my leg, and was sent to the hospital by a neighbor. Even now, I still feel shaken.
Out of fear of what the future might hold and a deep sense of loneliness, I mustered up the courage to call Owen.
But...
The bond that doesn’t come from blood is always a bit distant.
I suppose it was my fault for asking too much.
In the midst of these thoughts, I drifted off to sleep.
