“My keys.”
“It’s for your own good.”
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Melissa touched her purse.
“I’ll keep an eye on the house.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Mom.”
“My keys.”
“You shouldn’t be driving right now anyway.”
“I’ll keep an eye on the house.”
“I know that. My keys.”
She kissed my cheek.
Actually kissed me while refusing to give them back.
“I’ll call tonight.”
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Then she left.
“I know that. My keys.”
***
The facility was clean. Dinner was decent, and a nurse named Patricia brought an extra pillow for my hip. None of that changed the fact that I had never chosen to be there.
That first night, I cried quietly into my pillow.
I had never chosen to be there.
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Not because I thought my life was over.
Because I could picture my kitchen eighty miles away.
Larry’s blue mug beside the sink.
His crayons in the drawer next to the table.
