Stories, health tips, and curious facts made simple.
My father sat motionless.
« He asked me where his blue sweater was. Twice. »
« He’s just tired, Lydia. We’re all tired. »
« Right… »
That night, I watched Lydia bring my father a bowl of soup on the porch.
She crouched beside his chair and spoke softly.
He smiled at her.
« He’s just tired, Lydia. »
He hadn’t smiled at me in days.
« Dad, do you want me to sit with you? » I called from the doorway.
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