Rosa, my old neighbor.
“My friend, I’ve been living with my son and his wife for two years. I identify so much with this. You made me cry. Thank you for sharing.”
Patricia from the book club.
“My mom went through something similar. She ended up in the hospital from stress. I wish she’d had your courage.”
A cousin I hadn’t seen in years.
“This hit me hard. All older women deserve respect, not crumbs.”
Mrs. Guadalupe, a childhood friend.
And so they continued.
Comment after comment from women sharing their own stories.
Women living with their children being treated as unpaid caregivers.
Women who had lost their homes, their savings, their dignity.
My little post had become a refuge for silenced voices.
At 3:00 in the afternoon, my sister called.
“Beatatrice, what’s going on? Daniel called me crying. He says you left the house.”
“I left my house,” I corrected. “Where I was living as a domestic servant.”
