After I left for college, I finally felt I could make a difference. My mom, Paula, had always put everyone else first — first my dad, then me, then her job as a hospital administrator.
She later told me she was seeing someone from work. I was happy for her. That man was Dennis. I met him once — he wasn’t awful, just loud and self-centered. No red flags… at first.
She married him a few months after I moved. Life got busy, and everything seemed fine for years. But then I noticed little changes: Mom sounded tired, sad, and insisted she was “fine” whenever I asked.
One day I visited unannounced and saw her inside with a broken leg — carrying laundry, scrubbing floors, limping around their big house. She hadn’t told me because she didn’t want to worry me. Dennis was away ice fishing, and she was cleaning because *his daughter*, Kylie, was coming that evening and he wanted the house perfect.
I helped Mom into my car, called a snow removal service and the city to report unsafe conditions, and arranged for a nurse to check on her. The snow crew turned the property into a snow fortress.
When Dennis returned, he was stunned. Kylie arrived too, horrified that he made Mom clean with a broken leg. A city inspector showed the complaint and photos. Dennis tried to argue, but Kylie sided with Mom, apologizing. Mom left with me.
I took her home, helped her heal, and two weeks later she filed for divorce. Dennis later injured himself trying to dig out the snow. Mom recovered, laughing again — the sound I’d missed most.