Two weeks ago, she slipped in the kitchen, and everything changed. She became almost immobile, suddenly dependent on me for every task. Overnight, our home turned into a triage center — childcare, work, cooking, bills, and now constant caregiving layered on top. The pressure became overwhelming.
When she refused to even discuss a nursing home, I tried to find a compromise. I asked if she could help financially so I could afford part-time care and keep my job. It wasn’t about punishment — it was about survival. But the conversation exploded. She shouted, “I’m your mother — you owe me!” and the words cut deeply.
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