And this old woman, who had every reason to be the one receiving care, kept insisting on giving it instead, kept reaching across the gap between us to tend to me, to ask after my sleep and my meals as though I were the fragile one.

It cracked something open in me that had been sealed for a very long time.

She did not need me to take care of her.

She had decided, somewhere in her wandering mind, to take care of me, and I had not known how badly I needed exactly that until she gave it.

I think that is why I kept coming back on the unpaid days, though I did not understand it at the time and would have told you it was simple pity, or guilt, or duty.

The truth was more selfish and more human than any of those.