Our conversation continued, Emma explaining the arrangement she had with my mother. She’d been handling her appointments and paperwork, thinking it was for the best. I listened, trying to understand her perspective, but my mind kept returning to the missing information.
“I just wish I had known sooner,” I said, my voice quieter now. Emma reached across the table, her hand resting on mine.
“I promise, it was never meant to exclude you,” she assured, her eyes earnest.
After our meeting, I returned home, my thoughts tangled. I knew I needed more clarity, so I decided to contact my mother’s healthcare provider directly. The calls were met with polite efficiency, yet each conversation left me with more questions than answers.
By the end of the day, I had a growing file of notes and documents, the weight of them pressing down on me. I realized this was only the beginning of unraveling the story behind my mother’s care.
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