By the time I finished the third IV drip, I shakily dialed Owen’s number.

“Hello, Mom!” The phone was quickly picked up.

I forced a smile and said, “Owen, it’s me. How have you been? Everything okay?”

“We’re fine, Mom. Is there something you need? If not, I’m hanging up, I’m at work right now,” Owen's voice was laced with impatience.

I sensed the coldness in his tone, and my nervousness deepened, my breathing quickening.

“I… I…”

“Mom, if you need something, just say it. I don’t have much time,” he urged, cutting me off.

I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and finally asked, “Owen, I was wondering if I could come stay with you for a while, have you take care of me? Is that okay?”

My voice dwindled to a whisper by the end, almost silent.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

I held my breath, waiting for his answer, feeling like a guilty person awaiting judgment.

“Mom, it’s not that I wouldn’t be okay with it, but things are a bit complicated right now. Maybe in a little while…” Owen finally spoke, his voice uncertain.

My heart sank, and panic gripped me. “Then…”

At that moment, the nurse entered and interrupted me. “Mrs. Wells, your IV is finished. I’ll change your dressing now.”

I nodded distractedly and, with a hint of a choke in my voice, said, “Owen, I have to go, I’ll talk to you later.”

Before he could respond, I hung up the phone.

A minute later, Owen called back.

I stared blankly at the screen, torn between answering and avoiding it.

“Mrs. Wells, your phone is ringing,” the nurse, who was changing my dressing, kindly pointed out.

I smiled weakly and answered the call.

“Mom, are you in the hospital?” Owen’s voice was rapid.

I could almost hear the annoyance in his tone.

Is he frustrated because I’m bothering him?

Or does he worry I’m calling for money?

I instinctively started to deny it. “No, I’m not…”

The nurse beside me sighed and spoke up, “Mrs. Wells, I’m sure that’s your son. Don’t hide it anymore. With your condition, it’s really better for you to have someone taking care of you.”

Clearly, Owen heard her.

“Mom, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

I hesitated and answered cautiously, “It’s nothing serious, just a fall, a few minor injuries. Don’t worry about me, you guys are busy… I’ll have a nurse help me soon.”

“What hospital are you at?” Owen interrupted.

“Mercy Hospital.”

“Orthopedics?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing, just a small injury. It’s fine, I’m getting my dressing changed. Go ahead and take care of your own things,” I rushed to end the conversation.

The nurse was clearly upset on my behalf. “Mrs. Wells, with your situation, why don’t you just tell your son? Isn’t the whole point of having children to take care of you in your old age?”

I smiled faintly. “They’re busy. I don’t want to cause them trouble.”

“Ah, you really have the heart of a parent. Well, I’ve finished with your dressing. If you need anything, just press the call button.”

After the nurse left, I lay down and pulled the blanket over my face.

Children are supposed to take care of their parents in their old age.

A parent’s heart is boundless.

Tears fell silently.

In truth, I envied the elderly woman in the bed next to mine.

But I can’t.

Owen is my stepson.

I married Marcus Wells when I was thirty-two.

Before that, I had been married once.

I married for love, but after three years, I still couldn’t get pregnant. After visiting the doctor, I found out it was my problem.

When I returned home, my ex-husband handed me the divorce papers and stormed out.

I cried all night and then signed the papers.

And just like that, we went our separate ways.

Because I couldn’t have children, when I considered remarriage, I lacked the confidence I once had.

Through a mutual acquaintance, I met Marcus.

Marcus’ first wife had passed away two years ago, and he hadn’t remarried. He had a five-year-old son.

My mom urged me to say yes, saying Marcus had great conditions, and his child was a perfect match for me.

I finally agreed.

And so, I became Owen’s stepmother.

I tried to be a good mother, putting my heart into educating him.

But the boy never really warmed up to me.

Over time, I grew disheartened. I stopped trying so hard to get close, keeping a distance but still showing I cared.

Eventually, we found a way to get along.

When Owen married, Marcus and I used part of our savings to pay for their down payment. Life felt somewhat complete after that.

But a year ago, Marcus passed away after a long illness, and since then, I’ve been left alone.

Marcus’s illness drained most of our savings, but fortunately, I still have my pension.

I’ve spent a year living alone, and I’ve come to understand the loneliness that comes with old age.

Owen and his wife Lydia live in a neighboring city, and since his father passed away, they’ve come home less and less.

Though Owen and I are technically mother and son, we’re distant, never really close. We hardly video call, let alone talk like normal mother and son.

I’ve imagined countless ways to spend my old age, but never did I think I’d end up like this at sixty.

In truth, sixty is not old at all.

But it’s my lonely heart that’s aging.

What’s truly painful is eating alone, sleeping alone, washing dishes alone, cooking alone, watching TV alone, talking to myself.

I have a few friends, but everyone has their own life, and no one can stay with you all the time.

Some friends advised me to find someone else.

But at my age, what’s the point of finding another? To be a caretaker? I’ve heard enough stories online about elderly marriages that end in illness and misery without any happy endings. Even though I’m lonely now, I don’t want to find myself in a more miserable situation. Besides, when Marcus was alive, we had a happy marriage. He only passed away a year ago, and I can’t possibly remarry.

I’ve also hired a home caregiver before, the kind that charges by the hour. It’s expensive, and it’s hard to find someone who’s genuinely willing to listen. So I stopped.

This time, I fell, broke my leg, and was sent to the hospital by a neighbor. Even now, I still feel shaken.

Out of fear of what the future might hold and a deep sense of loneliness, I mustered up the courage to call Owen.

But...

The bond that doesn’t come from blood is always a bit distant.

I suppose it was my fault for asking too much.

In the midst of these thoughts, I drifted off to sleep.

The door to the hospital room creaked open, and the lights flickered on instantly.

It had already grown dark outside.

I thought it must be the child from the next bed bringing her mother dinner, and I felt even more sluggish.

"Mom!"

"Mom! We're here."

The familiar voices startled me, and I quickly sat up on the bed, pulling the blanket around me.

It was Owen and Lydia.

I fumbled, unsure of what to say. "You... How did you get here? Didn't they say it was just a minor issue?"

Owen set the lunchbox on the bedside table. "Mom, seriously. After all this happened, how could you not tell us? If I hadn’t overheard the nurse, would you have planned to keep this from us forever?"

Owen's voice was a little louder than usual.

I nervously looked at them, at a loss for words, unsure how to respond.

Did he think I was causing him trouble?

A wave of sadness washed over me.

Lydia gently patted Owen’s arm. "Speak nicely."

With that, she placed the fruit and milk she was holding on the bedside table. "Mom, eat first. I brought some rib soup. Owen only told me about this this afternoon, but luckily, we had soup at home this morning. Here, drink it while it’s still warm. We also bought food for you. You haven’t eaten yet, have you? You must be starving."

She opened the lunchbox.

The delicious aroma of the food wafted up, and I suddenly realized how hungry I was.

Lydia has always known how to talk well, but today, I realized just how skillful she was at it.

I took the soup from her and smiled. "I just didn’t want you two to keep running around like this."

After taking a sip of the soup, I found it perfectly seasoned, warm and soothing as it traveled down into my stomach—comforting enough to make me sigh.

"Mom, you always keep your distance with me. Enough with that. Eat your food first. I’ll go find the doctor." With that, Owen turned and left the room.

I watched him walk away, my eyes welling up.

Lydia pulled out the food. "Mom, try this. How’s the taste? Is it to your liking? Owen said you like ribs…"

I paused, holding the spoon mid-air.

So, Owen knew my preferences.

A quiet joy spread through my chest, slowly winding around my heart.

"Alright, alright, come sit down. You must be tired from the trip, huh? I’ll give you the keys later. Stay the night at the house. It’s just that it hasn’t been tidied up for a while…"

"Mom, just eat your food, don’t worry about that. Owen and I are adults now, not kids. We can take care of things." Lydia gave me an amused look.

I hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. "Okay, I’ll eat."

The elderly lady in the bed next to me interjected with a laugh. "Oh, so you didn’t tell your son and daughter-in-law, huh? That’s where you went wrong. Something as big as being hospitalized, you should definitely inform the younger generation. Otherwise, people might think the kids aren’t being filial."

I glanced at the old lady, a little speechless. Was she trying to stir things up?

I nervously looked at Lydia. Was she upset?

Lydia smiled at me, then turned to the elderly lady with a grin. "Auntie’s right. This is a big deal, of course, the younger ones should be told. It’s best to call the whole family over, have everyone gather around and take care of you. How else can you enjoy life?"

I was dumbfounded.

How did Lydia know exactly what that old lady was like?

The old lady was left red-faced, fumbling for a response before grumpily muttering, "You really shouldn’t talk like that. My children and grandchildren come to see me, that’s their way of showing respect…"

She grumbled a few more words and turned her back to face the wall, falling asleep.

Lydia winked at me, flashing a mischievous smile.

I moved my lips, wanting to ask Lydia how she knew about the old lady’s character, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask.

Lydia suddenly leaned in, whispering gently in my ear, "You can tell by the way she looks, she’s not easy to get along with."

I gave her a thumbs up.

Lydia covered her mouth, her eyes squinting with laughter.

In that moment, a closeness blossomed between us.