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