Mia called the woman in the picture “Mommy.” I called emergency services. A few hours later, they arrived—with my mother. She looked older, confused—diagnosed with advanced Alzheimer’s. Her caregiver had passed away, and she had wandered off with Mia. Mia was my sister.
“I’ll take her,” I said without hesitation. That morning, as the storm cleared, Rachel hugged me and said, “You’re living again.” The road ahead wouldn’t be easy—but we had each other. And that was enough to begin again.