«Mum, maybe she should go to a care home,» whispered the daughter in the hallway.
«Alice, what’s taking you so long? Dinner’s getting cold!» came the irritated voice of Steven from the kitchen.
Alice Bennett adjusted the pillow behind her mother, tucked the blanket snugly around her, and only then answered, «Coming, coming! Just gave Mum her watershe was taking her tablets.»
«Same thing every day,» muttered her husband when she finally sat at the table. «Tablets, doctors, changing nappies. Like we dont have anything else to do.»
Alice silently started on her soup. What was there to say? It *was* the same routineday in, day out. A year and a half now since theyd taken her mum in after the stroke. Back then, it had felt temporaryjust until she got back on her feet. But time passed, and Margaret only grew weaker.
«Listen,» Steven said carefully, «maybe we *should* consider a care home? Theyve got round-the-clock care, doctors, and…»
«Stop it!» Alice cut him off sharply. «How can you even suggest that? Shes my *mother*!»
Steven sighed and dropped the subject. Alice finished her soup in silence, knowing deep down he was right. She could feel herself fraying at the edgesexhaustion creeping in. Teaching full-time drained her, and at home, her sick mother needed constant attention.
After lunch, while Steven went to tend the garden, Alice sat by her mums bedside. Margaret lay with her eyes closed, breathing steadily. Alice took her handthin now, cool to the touch.
«Mum, how are you feeling? Fancy a cuppa?»
The old woman opened her eyes slowly, fixing her daughter with a knowing look.
«Alice… I know Im a burden.»
«Mum, dont say that! Youre *not*.»
«Dont lie, love. I see how tired you are. And Stevenhes a good man, putting up with me, but its hard on him. You two are still young. You should be *living*, not looking after some old woman.»
Alice felt a lump rise in her throat. Mum had always been sharpillness hadnt dulled that.
«Mum, dont think like that. Well manage.»
Margaret gave her hand a feeble squeeze.
«Remember when you had scarlet fever as a girl? Forty-degree fever, deliriousI didnt leave your side for three weeks. Your dad said we ought to send you to hospital, but I wouldnt hear of it. Thought youd only get better at home, with me.»
«I remember, Mum.»
«And when you went off to uni, I worried youd forget about me. But you came home every weekend, always brought little treats…»
Alice stayed quiet. Memories surgedMum working two jobs to put her through school, scrimping on herself so Alice never went without.
«Mum, lets not talk about this. You should rest.»
«No, love, listen. Ive had time to think. Real love isnt about clinging on. Sometimes its about letting go.»
Just then, ten-year-old Emily from next door peeked in.
«Auntie Alice, can I see Granny Margie? I picked her some flowers!»
«Of course, sweetheart.»
Emily bounded to the bed, thrusting out a fistful of marigolds. «For you! Theyre like tiny suns!»
Margaret struggled upright, accepting them. «Thank you, pet. Youre a dear. Hows school?»
«Brilliant! I can read *properly* now. And yesterday Mum gave me a fiver, and I bought bread and milk all by myself!»
«Well done! Growing up so clever and brave.»
Emily chattered a while longer before dashing off to play. Alice stayed, turning the flowers in her hands.
«See?» Margaret murmured. «Her parents trust her, let her spread her wings. Thats how children grow.»
«What are you saying, Mum?»
«That too much coddling does harm. Remember Mrs. Clark down the road? Sheltered her boy so much he couldnt boil an egg at forty.»
Alice smiled faintly. Poor Victor *had* been hopeless until his mum passed.
That evening, after tucking Margaret in, Alice found Steven at the kitchen table, flipping through a brochure.
«Whats that?»
«Just… info on care homes. In case.» He tucked it away. «Dont be cross. I spoke to Dave todayhis mums at Willowbrook. Said the staff are top-notch…»
«Steven, *stop*!»
«Hear me out!» He exhaled. «Im not a monster. I care about Margaret too. But look at youyoure running on fumes. Works noticing youre distracted. When did you last sleep through the night? Or just *talk* to me like we used to?»
Alice leaned against the counter. Outside, autumn leaves swirled. Mum *loved* autumncalled it the prettiest season. This year, shed barely seen it.
«Im scared shell be miserable there,» Alice admitted. «Her whole lifes been in her own home, her own things. There, its all strangers.»
Steven hugged her shoulders. «You think its easy for her, watching you kill yourself? Women *know*, love. Maybe she *wants* you to put yourself first.»
The next day, Alice came home early. Neighbour Betty met her in the hall.
«Alice, your mums been ever so low today. Wouldnt even chat when I popped in.»
Margaret lay turned toward the wall.
«Mum? Tea?»
«Dont want any.»
«Whats wrong?»
«Everything. Just lying here, useless.»
Alice sat on the bed. «Mum, whats happened?»
Margaret turned. «I heard you and Steven last night. About the home.»
Alice flushed. «Mum, it was just talk»
«Im not daft. Ive run you ragged. Stevens rightits time.»
Tears pricked Alices eyes.
«Mum, youre *staying*.»
«Alice,» Margaret said firmly, «Im seventy-eight. Ive had my life. Yours is ahead of youtravel, grandchildren. Not nappies and tablets.»
Alice broke down. Margaret handed her a tissue.
«Dont cry. This isnt guilt. True love means knowing when to step back.»
That night, Alice lay awake, Steven snoring beside her. Was she being selfish? Keeping Mum close for *her* sake, not Margarets?
Next morning, dressing for work, she checked on her.
«Sleep alright?»
«Not a wink. Alice… lets visit that home.»
«Mum»
«Just *look*. Then well decide.»
After school, they went. Willowbrook stood in leafy groundsmodern, airy. The manager, a warm woman named Joan, showed them around.
Rooms were small but cosy, windows overlooking gardens.
«Residents bond quickly,» Joan explained. «Library, telly lounge, dominoes in the afternoons. Doctor visits daily, nurses on call.»
The dining room buzzed with quiet chatter. It felt… peaceful.
«How often do families visit?» Alice asked.
«Varies. Some weekly, some monthly. The main thing is they *do*.»
On the drive back, Margaret was quiet. At home, she finally spoke.
«Its… nice there. Decent people.»
Alice helped her to bed. Margaret clasped her hand.
«Alice, Ive made up my mind. Im moving.»
«Mum»
«My choice. I wont feel guilty there. And youll visitI know you will.»
«Every weekend,» Alice promised, crying in the hall. Steven held her.
«Its the right thing.»
«I know. But it *hurts*.»
A week later, they settled Margaret in. Alice arranged her photos, favourite mug, the quilt shed always loved.
«Youll be alright, Mum?»
«Course! Now *you* relax. Stevens a keeperdont neglect him.»
Leaving, Alice glanced back. Margaret waved from the windowfrail, silver-haired, but somehow… lighter.
Weekends became visits. Margaret thrivedmade friends, read to a blind neighbour, helped others write letters.
«Feel *useful* here,» she confessed.
At home, life bloomed again. Alice slept. She and Steven rediscovered date nights, even booked a seaside breakfirst in years.
One visit, Alice bumped into Mrs. Harris from their street.
«Alice! Had no idea Margaret was here! We play cards every Tuesdayshes the life of the place!»
Joan echoed it later: «Your mums our sunshine.»
That evening, Alice kissed Margaret goodbye.
«Mum… you were right. This *was* best.»
Margaret patted her hand. «Real love doesnt chain people down, love. It sets them free.»
Driving home, Alice let it sink in. One day, shed need to loosen her grip on her own children too. And *that*she finally understoodwould be loves hardest, kindest lesson.
Outside, golden leaves danced. For the first time in years, Alice truly *saw* them.
