Daniel nodded.
“I know. I made a mistake.”
He explained that the gloves I’d seen were for cleaning up after my mother had knocked over a glass and broken it.
And the envelope?
Daniel handed it to me.
Inside was a letter written in my mother’s familiar handwriting, dated several weeks earlier.
My dear Daniel,
Please don’t tell Margaret until I’m ready. I know something is happening to my memory. Yesterday, I forgot my own daughter’s birthday. I saw the hurt in her eyes, and I couldn’t bear it.
I’m afraid she’ll stop seeing me as her mother and start seeing me as someone who needs to be taken care of.
Please help me understand what’s happening before we tell her.
