I had spent more years in that house than anyone else ever did. Ten long years of my life were devoted to caring for a man who had become difficult, stubborn, and sometimes even cruel, yet I stayed. It wasn’t easy. I was the one who handled everything—from his medications to the meals, from his long, restless nights when he could barely breathe to the moments when his children barely found the time to visit.
The situation wasn’t ideal, to say the least, but there was a strange sense of duty I felt to him. He was family, in a way. His children, on the other hand, had given up on him long ago, emotionally and physically.
The house became my world, and his needs became my responsibility. I watched over him when no one else did.But in the end, when…
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