She didn’t argue. She simply smiled and said, “I’m proud of you,” before walking away. At the time, I thought nothing of it. I was busy with my own life, assuming that this distance was just part of growing up.
A few months later, I traveled to her town for a conference. I told myself I was visiting her out of concern, but deep down, I needed reassurance that everything was fine. As I approached her home, something felt off. The place seemed empty, stripped of the warmth it once held.
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Then I heard a faint noise.
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Inside, I found her collapsed on the floor—pale, trembling, barely conscious. She looked fragile, worn down in a way I had never seen before. It was then I realized how much of herself she had been giving away, piece by piece. Panic took over as I rushed to her side. Even then, she forced a weak smile and whispered, “I didn’t want you to worry.”
