Cleaned Her House for Eight Years, Then Before Moving Away She Asked Me to Come Back Without My Cleaning Supplies – Middle Aged Club

I went up the stairs. I called her name again. My voice sounded thin and strange in that big quiet house.
Her bedroom door was open. Her bed was made. And the door to her bathroom, the one with

the claw-foot tub, was half closed.

I pushed it open.

She was lying on the tile floor between the tub and the sink. She was wearing her flannel nightgown.

One arm was under her at a bad angle. Her face was gray. Her

eyes were closed.

I don’t remember deciding to do anything. I just remember my knees hitting the tile.

“Mrs. Whitaker! Mrs. Whitaker, can you hear me?”

Her eyes opened. Just a little. They were cloudy and confused. Her lips moved.

“Carly,” she whispered. “It’s Thursday.”