The Elder Care Worker
"Lucinda has cared for other people's parents for thirty years. When her client's son notices her dedication, she discovers some care is reciprocal."
Caring is my calling.
Thirty years tending to elders—bathing, feeding, loving when families can't. I'm Lucinda—fifty-seven, certified nursing assistant, invisible to everyone except my patients.
"You're different with her."
The man visits his mother every Sunday. Marcus Webb—professional, attentive, watching me work.
"Different how?"
"You talk to her like she hears." He pauses in the doorway. "She hasn't recognized anyone in two years."
"She hears. She just can't respond." I adjust her pillow. "Doesn't mean she's not there."
His Sunday visits change.
Marcus arrives earlier, stays later, watching me care for the woman who raised him.
"How do you do this?" he asks one evening.
"Do what?"
"Love strangers. Day after day. Give everything and get nothing back."
"Plenty comes back." I touch his mother's hand. "You just have to know how to receive it."
His mother passes peacefully.
I'm there, holding her hand, Marcus holding mine.
"Thank you," he whispers.
"It's my job—"
"No." His eyes are wet. "What you gave her was more than any job. It was grace."
After the funeral, he returns.
Not to the facility—to find me.
"I've been thinking," he says.
"About your mother?"
"About you." He steps closer. "About someone who gives everything and asks for nothing. About wanting to change that."
"Marcus—"
"I know it seems soon. But watching you with her..." He touches my face. "I saw something rare. Someone who loves without agenda."
"I was doing my work—"
"You were showing me who you are." His voice softens. "And I want to know more. All of it."
The kiss happens in my modest apartment.
Where I rest between shifts, where no one ever visits.
"You're exhausted," he observes.
"I'm always exhausted."
"Let me take care of you." His arms tighten. "For once. Just receive."
He undresses me gently.
"When's the last time someone touched you like this?" he asks.
"I don't remember."
"Then remember tonight." His mouth finds my neck. "I'll make sure you remember."
His care is thorough.
Hands that held his mother's hand now worship my body. When his mouth travels lower, I feel tended.
"Marcus—"
"Let me." He settles between my thighs. "Just let me give back."
When he enters me, I'm receiving.
"So good," he groans.
"More. I need more care."
"Every day. For the rest of our lives."
Afterward, in my worn sheets, he plans.
"Retire."
"I can't afford—"
"You can now." He pulls me closer. "Marry me. Let me take care of the woman who took care of everyone else."
"Marcus—"
"You gave my mother dignity in her final years. Let me give you dignity in all your remaining ones." He kisses my forehead. "Say yes, Lucinda."
The wedding is simple.
Like I am. Like he loves.
"To the woman who showed me what real love looks like," Marcus toasts.
"To the man who finally gave some back," I counter.
We kiss while a new life begins.
Some caregivers give until empty.
Some find someone who fills them up.
And some elder care workers discover that the best medicine is love that flows both ways.
Finally cared for.
Finally seen.
Forever cherished.