Evelyn would set the table for dinner, her careful fingers smoothing the wrinkles from the placemats, her breath calm and steady. “Would you like some more peas?” she’d ask, her brow slightly furrowed as if she was genuinely concerned about my nutrition. I’d nod absently, not really absorbing her gestures. They were just things she did. I barely noticed.
She had a way of taking care of me. When my boots got scuffed, she surprised me with a new pair after a long day, the kind that cradled my feet as if they were made for me. “Just a little something,” she’d smile, her eyes shimmering like the morning sun. I thanked her, of course, but I didn’t feel as grateful as I should have.
And then there were the medication bottles cluttering the counter, the warnings about side effects that I’d heard her speak of too many times. Each pill was a reminder — a countdown, perhaps. I’d look at her and think about how it would all one day be mine. It was a thought I shook away, like a fly buzzing near my ear. I thought I was being realistic, that I was just preparing for what was inevitable.
The Day Everything Changed
And then it happened. It was an ordinary morning, just like any other. I was lost in my thoughts, thinking about the bills piling up and how I might need to get another job or maybe—just maybe—ask Evelyn if I could borrow a little from her. The daydream was interrupted by the sound of a loud crash. I turned, and there she was, crumpled on the floor, the chair she’d been sitting on tipped over beside her.
“Evelyn!” I shouted, rushing to her side, dropping to my knees. My pulse raced, panic rising in my throat. I’d never heard her make a sound like that — it was like something out of a nightmare. I pressed my fingers on her wrist, feeling for a pulse, but my mind was racing too fast for my hands to find stillness. I begged her to wake up, to come back.
Three days later, she was gone.
