At home, Helen set the brochure beside her cold tea. New Beginnings stared back in cheerful letters. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe the vase mattered more than I thought. Maybe I’ve become the kind of mother people move away from.
Guilt shuffled into anger, then back again like two dancers who refuse to yield the floor. “I was only trying to help,” she whispered to nobody and everyone.
Help can feel like a lifeline or a leash, depending on who’s holding it—and who’s tired of being led.
