The End Of The Wedge, by Fliss Zakaszewska

She sat in the corner, legs on a footstool, lips a tight thin line.

“It’s a hard decision, but your mother’s end-of-life care is important. She struggles to stand. Marie’s a first-rate carer.”

Peter shook his head. “Doctor, I don’t think … ”

“At her age, it’s best.”

Peter shrugged.

Two weeks later …

“How are we, Martha? I’m Marie, remember? Shall we get breakfast for you … ? Don’t get up … ”

“Had breakfast at 6:30.” Martha put trainers on. “Leg injury’s recovered completely. I’m ready for my run.”

Marie gawped.

“Didn’t they check? I still train for marathons. You’re my carer girl; keep up.”

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