I’m 74 years old, and my name is Margaret. After my husband died, I moved in with my son, Michael, and his wife, Rebecca.

Rebecca answered

through her tears.

“She often didn’t want to drink anything in the evening. The doctor recommended that we make sure she drank enough water throughout the day. But I handled the situation badly by forcing you to drink it.”

Even so, I still had one question.

“Why did you hide all this from Michael?”

Rebecca remained silent for a long time.

Then she said words I will never forget.

“Because your son wanted you to move into a care facility where someone could look after you around the clock. But

I promised I would do everything I could to help you stay at home. I was afraid that if Michael found out what was happening at night, he would immediately give up on home care.”

Michael looked at his wife.

“You carried this burden alone for three months?”

Rebecca nodded.

“I simply didn’t want Mom to think we were trying to get rid of her.”

At that moment, I remembered how she sat beside my bed every night and stayed there until I fell asleep.

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