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I Was 73 When I Moved Into My Son’s House — Every Time He Bathed

My heart raced, and for a moment, I felt like I was reliving memories I had long tried to bury. There, in the dim light, was Daniel, sitting on the tiled floor of the shower, fully clothed, with water cascading over him. He was not alone; Olivia was there too, her arms around him, whispering softly as if trying to console him.

To see my son, who always seemed so composed and in control, reduced to such vulnerability, was a shock. It was as if the strong façade he maintained during the day had crumbled in the solitude of night. The tears in his eyes, mixed with the water from the shower, glistened like the bitter truths hidden beneath the surface of a seemingly perfect life.I quietly retreated to my room, my mind swirling with confusion and worry. What could be troubling Daniel so profoundly that he sought solace in the quiet hours of the morning, under the cover of running water? And Olivia, sweet Olivia, who bore her own silent burden, was there supporting him, when she herself appeared to be suffering.

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