Because the truth had settled into my bones with quiet certainty.
Being someone’s mother was an accident of biology.
Being their family required love, respect, and mutual care.
Michael had been my son for thirty-eight years.
But he’d never really been my family.
And now, surrounded by people who helped seniors who’d been discarded like inconvenience, I had finally found the family I deserved.
The kind Robert had spent three years planning for me to find.
Robert used to tell me I was stronger than I knew.
