I open my eyes. Time to feed her again.
I notice my hand as I turn the doorknob. Must remember to wear those dishwashing gloves.
“Sorry, Grandma,” says a young woman standing in the hallway. “I’ve got her.”
I stop and stare. Another woman, a bit older, enters the hallway.
I look back and forth between the older woman and the younger woman. They look … familiar.
“Mom, it’s OK. It's me,” says the older woman. “Gloria.”
They look … like me.
Gloria touches my hand.
I start to cry.