My mother spent 90 days in the hospital, fighting through surgeries, and my husband, Grant, never once came to see her. A year later, when his own mother fell down the stairs, he texted me, “Get to the ER now. You need to take care of her.” He expected me to obey like I always had. So I answered him with the same cold words he had once used on me and within minutes, he was calling me in a panic.
A year earlier, my mother called me from the parking lot of a small medical clinic.
“Rachel, don’t worry,” she said. “The doctor just wants me to have a few more tests.”