I’m Cassie, 35, and have been married to Ben, 38, for seven years. We don’t have children because I’ve had some health issues that make it tough.
Regardless, we’ve created a life together that I’m proud of. Ben works in real estate, and I work in IT, which keeps me both busy and fulfilled.
Our marriage was not ideal, but I believed it was stable.
Ben had always been the caring one among us.
When I was diagnosed with endometriosis three years ago, he took time off from work to drive me to each doctor’s visit. He would bring me hot pads and my favorite ice cream without my request.
On our fifth anniversary, he surprised me with a weekend trip to the cabin where we first met, recreating our entire first date, even the wine we drank.
That was the Ben I knew. Attentive, considerate, and the type of man that remembers the small details.
Sharon, Ben’s mother, had a small stroke few months ago.
She has always been kind to me, unlike the usual monster-in-law you read about.
Following her recovery, we invited her to live with us so that we could assist with her care. She did not require continual monitoring, but having someone present helped everyone feel safer.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” Sharon objected weakly when we proposed the relocation.
“Mom, you’ve taken care of me my whole life,” Ben told her, squeezing her hand. “Let me return the favor.”
Balancing work and caregiving proved tougher than we expected.
I worked from home two days a week, and Ben adjusted his showings around our schedule, but there were still gaps when Sharon would be alone.
After a particularly exhausting month, Ben suggested hiring a caregiver.
“Just for the hours when we’re both working,” he explained over dinner one night. “Someone to keep Mom company, help with meals, make sure she takes her medication.”
I sighed with relief. “That sounds great.
Should we check into agencies?
Ben shakes his head. “Actually, I believe I have found someone already. “A coworker recommended her.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow.
“That was fast.”
“Her name is Lena.” She is 28 and has already worked with several elderly individuals. His eyes grew brighter as he talked. “She’s quite sweet.
She is extremely patient with her clients, almost like a daughter to them. “Mom will adore her.”
Something about his exuberance made me pause, but I dismissed it. Ben has always been passionate about assisting others.
“I met her for coffee yesterday to interview her,” he explained.
“She is perfect, Cass. Absolutely perfect.”
“What’s the cost?” I inquired, ever realistic.
Ben cleared his throat. “A thousand a week.”
I almost choked on my wine.
“One thousand?” “For part-time care?”
“Quality care is worth the price,” he said. “Mom deserved the finest. And Lena is the finest!”
The next day, Ben brought home a packet with Lena’s “credentials.”
It was a list of unverified references and certifications from programs I had never heard of.
I still trusted my husband’s judgment. When he was certain about something, particularly when it came to caring for others, he usually made the correct decision.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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