I didn’t sleep well. The bed was like

iron, the sheets gritty, musty. William

choked softly the whole night. Mrs

Eames, however, was out like a light.

When a measly sunrise finally swelled

behind the curtains, I was exhausted.

I sat up and rubbed my tired eyes.

Mrs Eames was snoring. Traffic rumbled

below in the street. Today we would go

to see Mother. I’d read about the facility.

It was newly built. The director had

enlightened ideas. It nestled at the edge

of town.