By the fourth week, Elora was almost back to her normal routine.
Her doctor was pleased with her progress.
She could walk around the house more comfortably.
She still needed to be careful, but she no longer required the same level of assistance.
I was happy for her.
I had been worried about her falling again.
Now she could move around without calling me every few minutes.
She even started helping with small things.
One morning, I found her folding a blanket in the living room.
I took it from her.
"You don't need to do that."
She smiled.
"I have two working hands."
"And one leg that still needs looking after."
She laughed.
"You sound just like my children."
I looked at her.
Then I smiled.
"Well, somebody has to."
She shook her head.
That afternoon, I received confirmation of her next medical appointment.
It would be the final check before the doctor decided whether she could return home safely.
I told Elora about it.
She seemed pleased.
"I think I'm ready to go back."
I nodded.
"That's good."
She looked around the living room.
"You've been very patient with me."
"You're easy to live with."
She smiled.
But then she asked something I hadn't expected.
"Would you miss having me here?"
I laughed gently.
"Of course."
"Really?"
"Yes. But I'd rather have you healthy in your own home than struggling in mine."
She looked down.
"I suppose you're right."
I thought the conversation was over.
But she continued.
"Do you usually have visitors when you're alone?"
I looked at her.
"Sometimes."
"Friends?"
"Yes."
"Do they come often?"
I set down the cup I was holding.
"Not particularly. Why?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing. I was only asking."
I felt that familiar uncertainty again.
I didn't want to question every sentence she said.
But I couldn't ignore the pattern anymore.
She was interested in when I left.
When I returned.
Whether I had plans.
Whether anyone visited.
And now she wanted to know what happened when I was home alone.
I didn't understand.
Still, I didn't confront her.
I told myself that the stay was nearly finished.
There was no reason to create unnecessary tension.
The next day, I came home from work earlier than expected.
I found Elora sitting in the spare bedroom.
She was holding a small notebook.
When she saw me, she closed it.
I smiled.
"Having a quiet afternoon?"
"Yes."
I noticed the notebook.
"Writing something?"
"Just a few things."
I nodded.
I didn't ask what they were.
She placed it inside the drawer beside her bed.
Then she asked whether I had finished work for the day.
I said I had.
She seemed disappointed.
It was brief.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
I went to the kitchen and began preparing dinner.
A few minutes later, she joined me.
She stood near the doorway.
"Can I help?"
"No. Sit down."
"I can do something."
"You can keep me company."
She smiled and sat at the table.
We talked about the weather.
Then she asked whether I had plans for the coming weekend.
I told her I hadn't decided.
She nodded.
After a moment, she asked whether I would be going anywhere overnight.
I stopped chopping vegetables.
"Why would I?"
"I don't know. Some people travel on weekends."
I looked at her.
"Elora, is there something you're trying to arrange?"
She seemed startled.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sweetheart."
She smiled.
I returned to the vegetables.
But the question stayed with me.
That evening, I called a friend.
We discussed meeting for coffee on Saturday.
I mentioned it casually while Elora was sitting in the living room.
She looked up immediately.
"What time?"
I told her.
"Will you be away for the whole afternoon?"
"Probably not."
She nodded.
Then she looked toward the window.
I didn't say anything else.
On Saturday, I left for coffee.
Before going, I checked that she had everything she needed.
She assured me she did.
I told her I would be back in a couple of hours.
She smiled.
"Enjoy yourself."
When I returned, she was in her bedroom.
I knocked.
"Elora?"
She answered.
I opened the door slightly.
"Did you need anything while I was gone?"
"No, thank you."
I noticed she had moved the small table again.
It was now beside the window.
I didn't understand why she kept changing its position.
I almost asked.
Then I decided against it.
She was recovering.
She could arrange her room however she liked.
A few days later, we received the doctor's approval for her to return home.
Her leg was healing well enough.
She would still need to take precautions, but she could manage with some help from time to time.
I was relieved.
Elora was relieved too.
We began discussing the arrangements for her departure.
I offered to drive her home.
She accepted.
I also offered to help put her things away.
She said that wouldn't be necessary.
"You've already done enough."
I smiled.
"Let me decide that."
She laughed.
For the first time in several days, I felt that things were returning to normal.
The evening before she left, I prepared her favorite dinner.
We ate together at the kitchen table.
She looked around the house.
Then she looked at me.
"I don't know how I would have managed without you."
"You would have found a way."
"Perhaps."
She placed her fork down.
"I've been thinking about something."
I looked up.
"What?"
"About how people treat one another."
I waited.
She continued.
"Sometimes the people who are supposed to be closest to us are the ones who disappoint us most."
I knew she was referring to her children.
I didn't want to make her feel worse.
"Everyone has their own problems, Elora."
She shook her head.
"That doesn't mean they should forget their mother."
I didn't disagree.
She looked at me.
"You never made me feel unwanted."
I smiled.
"I'm glad."
She reached for her glass.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she asked whether I would be working the following morning.
I looked at her.
"Yes. But I'll take the morning off to help you move your things."
She nodded.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course."
She smiled.
But I noticed she seemed to be thinking about something else.
The following morning, I helped her pack.
She didn't have many belongings.
A few clothes.
Her medication.
Some personal items.
The small notebook from the bedside drawer.
She placed it carefully inside her handbag.
I didn't ask about it.
I carried her bag to the front door.
Then I helped her into the car.
The journey to her home was quiet.
When we arrived, I carried her belongings inside.
Her house looked exactly as I remembered it.
The furniture was still in the same places.
There were family photographs on the shelves.
One showed Shane when he was younger.
I looked away.
Elora noticed.
"I'm sorry."
I shook my head.
"It's fine."
She didn't mention him again.
I helped her put away the things she had brought.
Then I checked that she could reach the items she needed.
Her phone.
Her medication.
A glass of water.
She thanked me.
I reminded her to call if she needed anything.
Then I prepared to leave.
At the doorway, Elora suddenly reached for me.
She wrapped both arms around me.
It was a tighter embrace than I expected.
I held her carefully.
For several seconds, she didn't let go.
Then she whispered something.
"I don't think you'll ever know what these four weeks have meant to me."
I smiled.
"I'm just happy you're doing better."
She pulled back.
Her eyes looked unusually emotional.
"You're a good woman."
I didn't know what to say.
So I simply hugged her again.
Then I left.
I drove home feeling tired but satisfied.
The spare bedroom would be empty again.
The house would return to its usual quiet routine.
I thought about washing the sheets and putting the extra towels away.
I thought about making myself something simple for dinner.
Ordinary thoughts.
Nothing more.
I had no idea that the strangest part of those four weeks was still waiting for me.
A few hours after I returned home, someone knocked on my front door.
I wasn't expecting anyone.
I opened it.
Patricia, my neighbor, was standing outside.
She lived only a few houses away.
We weren't especially close, but we had known each other for years.
She usually waved when we passed.
Sometimes we exchanged small talk near the mailbox.
But that afternoon, she didn't look like someone who had come over for a casual conversation.
She was holding an old shoebox.
It was brown and worn around the edges.
One corner looked slightly crushed.
I glanced at it.
Then at her face.
"Patricia?"
She looked past me toward the hallway.
"Can I come in?"
I stepped aside.
"Of course. Is everything all right?"
She entered slowly.
Her eyes moved around the living room before settling on me.
Then she looked down at the box.
"I need to talk to you about Elora."
My stomach tightened.
"Did something happen?"
Patricia didn't answer immediately.
She held the shoebox against her chest.
Then she lowered her voice.
"I've been going back and forth about whether I should tell you."
I looked at the box again.
"What is that?"
She took a breath.
"Something I think you need to see."
I felt a sudden chill.
"Why?"
Patricia looked directly at me.
"Because I don't think Elora came to stay with you for the reason she told you."
I stared at her.
For a moment, I couldn't even find the words to respond.
Then Patricia stepped closer and held out the old shoebox.
Her voice became almost a whisper.
"She had a reason for choosing your house, and I believe she knew exactly what she was doing before she ever made that phone call."
I looked at the box.
Then back at Patricia.
And I realized that the four weeks I had spent caring for Elora might have meant something very different to her than they had meant to me.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: My Neighbor Finally Opened the Old Shoebox, and the First Thing I Saw Made Me Question Why Elora Had Chosen Me
I Thought I Was Simply Helping a Woman Who Had Never Stopped Treating Me Like Family, But Something About Her Request Stayed With Me
Part 4 of 20
