I stayed.
I stayed the nights he had a fever.
I stayed when his hands shook and he couldn’t hold a spoon.
I stayed as he told me stories from his youth – shorter and shorter, more and more broken, like an old tape that gets stuck at the most unexpected moment.
I remember one night. I sat exhausted by his bed, and the shadows on the walls seemed heavier than usual.
“Bill…” I whispered. “I’m just your daughter-in-law. Sometimes I feel like… it’s too much.”
He looked at me and smiled. Slightly. Like someone who understands more than he says.
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