A son once made a decision he believed was practical — one that would quietly follow him for the rest of his life. After his father’s passing, caring for his elderly mother began to feel like too heavy a burden. Between work, bills, and the pace of modern life, he convinced himself that moving her into a nursing home was the responsible thing to do. He promised to visit often, to call, to make sure she was comfortable.
But as weeks turned into months, those promises faded. His visits became fewer, his calls shorter, and her world smaller.
His mother never complained. She sat quietly in her small room, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and sterile walls. The nurses were kind, but it wasn’t the same. She missed the warmth of her home — the smell of her cooking, the sound of laughter, the presence of her son. She told herself he was busy and that he still loved her. Deep down, though, she knew what it meant to be forgotten.
One morning, the son received a call that made his heart stop. His mother had fallen seriously ill. Without thinking twice, he rushed to the nursing home, his mind spinning with guilt. Every red light felt like punishment for the distance he had created.
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