I was rushed to the hospital in critical condition. the doctors called my son, but he said, “i’m busy taking my wife to dinner, she doesn’t have much time anyway.” even after being told it could be serious. a week later, i walked out of the hospital and made a call to my bank. two hours later, he was at my door, looking shaken. but…

My name is Anna Steven, and at fifty-eight, I thought I knew what betrayal looked like. I was wrong. It was a Tuesday evening in October when my world collapsed. Literally. I was in my kitchen, preparing dinner as I had done thousands of times before, when the room began to spin. The granite countertop I had saved for years to afford rushed up to meet me, and everything went black.

The next thing I remember was waking up to the steady, rhythmic beep of machines and the sterile, antiseptic smell that belongs only to hospitals. Fluorescent lights burned my eyes, and my mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. A nurse with kind, tired eyes was checking my vitals. “Mrs. Steven, can you hear me?”

I tried to speak, but only a hoarse croak escaped.