I’m Diane. I’m 56, and until recently, I would’ve told you my marriage to Michael was the steady kind. Not perfect, not fireworks, but built on something real.
We raised two children in a small blue house. We paid every mortgage bill together, argued over paint colors, and kept a photo of our wedding day on the hallway wall.
We raised two children.
When Michael’s elderly mother, Evelyn, was diagnosed with advanced Alzheimer’s, I didn’t hesitate.
I quit my part-time bookkeeping job that same week.
« You’re sure about this? » Michael asked me one night as he watched me place my mother-in-law’s (MIL) medicine schedule into a binder.
« She’s family, » I said. « Who else is going to do it right? »
He kissed my forehead.
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