I told myself I wasn’t proud.
The truth was worse.
I was hurt.
That card felt like proof that, after a lifetime together, I had been reduced to a burden—something to discard neatly and forget.
Five Years of Quiet Decline
Time didn’t heal anything.
It wore me down slowly.
My body aged faster than my years. My joints stiffened. My back ached. Some mornings, standing up felt like climbing a hill with no end.
My children visited when they could. They left small amounts of money on the table and kissed my cheek before rushing back to their own busy lives.
I never told them how dizzy I felt some days. Or how often the room spun when I stood up too quickly.
I didn’t want to be another worry.
Then one afternoon, my body finally gave up.
I collapsed outside the door of my rented room.
When I woke up, I was in a clinic bed with white walls and the sound of machines humming softly.
The doctor didn’t hesitate.
“Severe malnutrition,” he said gently.
“You need treatment. And rest.”
I knew what that meant.
Bills I couldn’t pay.
For the first time in five years, I thought about the card.
It’s only three thousand dollars, I told myself. But maybe it will get me through a few days.
«« Previous
The Bank Visit That Changed Everything
The next morning, I went to a local bank branch downtown.
My hands trembled as I slid the card across the counter to the young teller.
“I’d like to withdraw everything,” I said quietly.
For Complete Cooking STEPS Please Head On Over To Next Page Or Open button (>) and don’t forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
