The hardest part wasn’t packing up her things. It wasn’t signing the paperwork or walking through those beige, too-quiet halls. It was when she smiled at me and said, “You don’t have to visit every day, sweetheart. I’ll be just fine.” She said it like she believed it. Like she was trying to make me feel better. It wasn’t safe anymore. My sister Salome and I both work full-time, and we have our own kids to take care of. We tried rotating days, hiring a caregiver, but Mom kept firing people. Said she didn’t want “a stranger giving her a bath.”

The nursing home isn’t bad, honestly. Clean place, kind staff, nice courtyard with a bird feeder she likes to watch. But the minute we left her room, I felt this horrible lump in my throat. Like we’d just abandoned her. In the car, Salome didn’t say much. She just stared out the window and picked at her nail polish.

“I feel like we’re giving up on her,” I finally said.

“We’re not,” she mumbled, but her voice cracked a little. “We’re just… out of options.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Mom brushing my hair when I was little, humming old songs while she packed my lunch. Now I’d left her in a room with a plastic mattress and a call button she probably won’t remember to press.

Then the phone rang. 6:47 a.m.

It was the nursing home.

My heart dropped. I picked up on the second ring. “This is Camilla.” Hi, Ms. Rocha. This is Carla from Evergreen Oaks. I just wanted to let you know your mom’s fine—she’s okay—but she had a little scare this morning.” I sat up straight in bed, the blankets suddenly too heavy. “What kind of scare?”

“She got confused and thought she was going to work. She made it out the front door before we noticed. She was trying to get to the bus stop down the street.”

I blinked. “She hasn’t worked in twenty years.” “I know. We’ve updated her chart to flag this kind of wandering. She’s not hurt. Just… shaken up. So were we.” I thanked Carla, hung up, and just sat there. It wasn’t even 7 a.m. and I already felt like crying. Again.