She became quiet, and withdrawn, like a shadow of the vibrant woman she used to be. She barely called or texted anymore, and every time I tried to check in, she insisted she was fine.
But I could tell she wasn’t.

One day, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I called her and said, “Mom, why don’t you come stay with me for a while? It’ll be fun. We can binge-watch those cooking shows you love and eat way too much ice cream.”
At first, she resisted, but after a bit of cajoling, she finally agreed.
A week later, she moved into my guest room, and I made it my mission to bring her back to life.

I started encouraging her to get out of the house, make new friends, and attend neighborhood events.
“You’re still young, Mom,” I told her. “You deserve to have fun and meet people. Dad would want that for you.”
To be honest, that wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

She’d sigh and roll her eyes whenever I suggested going to a book club or joining a gardening group. But eventually, she started saying yes
Slowly but surely, I saw the spark return to her eyes. She started laughing more, talking about her new friends, and even picking up some of her old hobbies.
I was so relieved to see this side of her again.
Then, about a year ago, Mom told me about Greg. She invited him over for lunch one day.
“He’s just a friend,” she said, but the way her cheeks turned pink told me otherwise.