For a moment, I truly believed we had found our way back to being a real family again.
But that feeling didn’t last.
Only two weeks later, the criticism started.
“Mom, could you trim your nails more often? They make you look… old.”
“Mom, maybe you should shower again. Sometimes there’s a strange smell.”
“Mom, those clothes don’t look good anymore. You look sloppy.”
I tried to adapt.
I bought new outfits. I began showering twice a day. I even avoided eating near her after she once complained that the sound of my chewing bothered her.
But the harder I tried to satisfy her, the worse things became.
One afternoon, while I was outside trimming the roses my husband had planted years earlier, I overheard Rachel speaking on the phone with her sister Monica.
“I can’t stand living with her,” Rachel said. “She’s disgusting, Monica. The way she eats, coughs, walks… everything about old people makes me sick. But I need a place to stay until I find a job, so I’m just dealing with it for now.”
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