Lost in the dark

A debt paid with love when roles changes

I noticed it little by little.

Not in one loud moment, not in a sudden fall or sickness—just in the way her steps slowed, in how she paused before standing, in how her hands shook when she tried to lift even the smallest pot. The woman who had once been strong enough to carry my newborn child was now bending under the quiet weight of age.

And it struck me one morning:

it was my turn.

This was the woman who stayed when everyone else left me.

The woman who fed me when I had nothing.

The woman who bathed Dora when my body was weak and my heart was broken.

I could not abandon her the way life had taught people to abandon others.

So I adjusted my life.

Every morning, before the sun fully rose, I woke Dora. I bathed her gently, dressed her in her school uniform, combed her hair slowly,