“What goes around comes around,” old Eleanor kept repeating. However, Nurse Claire worried about the elderly lady’s future. After giving her son access to all of her savings, Eleanor had almost been kicked out onto the streets. Yet, one delivery from her past changed everything.

The room carried the quiet charm of years gone by. The faint lavender scent mixed with the polish of old wood evoking a sense of warmth and calm.
Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, creating delicate patterns on the faded wallpaper.

In her favorite armchair, Eleanor sat with a soft, faraway look in her eyes.

Her frail hands rested on an embroidered blanket, the fabric as worn and familiar as the memories she clung to.

The rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to match her thoughts, wandering somewhere between the past and the present.
Eleanor’s gaze lingered on the timepiece, a wedding gift from decades ago, now a relic of a life she once knew.

A gentle knock at the door pulled her from her reverie. Nurse Claire peeked in, her kind smile lighting up the quiet space.

“Ma’am, you have a visitor,” she said in her usual soft, soothing tone.

Eleanor straightened as much as her stiff back would allow, her expression curious.

“A visitor? Well, let them in, dear,” she replied, her voice carrying a hint of anticipation.
Moments later, the sound of polished shoes on the wooden floor announced the arrival of her son, Andrew.

He strode in, tall and imposing in a tailored suit, his cologne filling the room with an air of sharpness that matched his demeanor.

“Mother,” he greeted, his tone clipped, though he forced a tight smile.

Eleanor’s face brightened. “Andrew, what a pleasant surprise,” she said warmly, though the coolness in his voice didn’t escape her.
Andrew wasted no time with small talk. He pulled out a sleek folder and placed it on the small table beside her chair.

“Mother, I need you to sign these papers,” he said, his words brisk and efficient.

“It’s just a small thing. It will give me access to your accounts and the company’s holdings. I’ll handle everything for you—it’ll make things much easier.”

Eleanor blinked, her frail hands hovering over the folder.
“Oh, Andrew, if it will make your life easier…” she began, her voice trailing off.

Before she could pick up the pen, Nurse Claire stepped forward, her usually soft expression now firm.

“Ma’am,” she interjected, her voice steady, “perhaps it’s best to review these documents later. It’s been a long day, and you need your rest.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened, his forced smile faltering. “It’s just a signature,” he snapped, his tone turning sharp.

Claire didn’t flinch. “Later,” she repeated firmly, her gaze unwavering.
Eleanor looked between them, confused but compliant.

“Alright, Andrew. We’ll do it later,” she said softly, her trust in him unwavering despite her nurse’s intervention.

Andrew stood abruptly, irritation flashing across his face.

“Fine. I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said, turning on his heel and leaving without another word.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Claire knelt beside Eleanor’s chair, her voice softening. “Are you alright?”
Eleanor nodded, but her smile faltered.

“He’s my son, Claire,” she said, her voice heavy with emotion. “He only wants what’s best… doesn’t he?”

Claire hesitated, her heart aching for the elderly woman.

“Of course, Ma’am,” she murmured, though doubt lingered in her eyes.

The garden was a quiet oasis tucked away from the humdrum of the nursing home.

Roses in full bloom climbed gracefully up trellises, their soft petals catching the golden light of late afternoon.
A small fountain bubbled rhythmically, the sound mingling with the cheerful chirps of sparrows flitting from branch to branch.

The air was heavy with the sweet scent of jasmine, and for a moment, it felt as if the world beyond this garden didn’t exist.

Nurse Claire wheeled Eleanor along the stone path, careful to keep the ride smooth.

She glanced down at the elderly woman, whose face seemed serene as she absorbed the beauty around her.

Claire hesitated, her words caught somewhere between her heart and her lips.

“Ma’am,” she finally said, her voice tentative, “I know it’s not my place, but Andrew… he doesn’t seem to have your best interests at heart.”

Eleanor chuckled lightly, her frail hands resting on her lap. “Oh, Claire, he’s my son. He’s just ambitious. That’s not a bad thing.”

Claire stopped the wheelchair and knelt beside Eleanor, her tone soft but urgent.
“Ambitious? Maybe. But he doesn’t see you as his mother. He sees you as a means to an end. If you give him control of your finances, he’ll forget about you. He’s already left you here, hasn’t he?”

Eleanor’s smile faltered, the warmth in her expression dimming slightly. But she didn’t respond, her eyes drifting to the roses as if seeking solace.

Claire pressed on, her voice gaining strength.

“This nursing home is struggling. Soon, it might have to close. If you invested in it instead, you’d secure your comfort here and help others in need.”
Eleanor reached out a trembling hand and placed it over Claire’s, her touch light but firm.

“Claire, dear, I’ve lived my life by one principle: what goes around comes around. If Andrew wants my money, then so be it. The universe will see to it that things work out.”

Claire’s eyes filled with frustration, her voice breaking slightly.

“That’s… delusional, Ma’am. Life doesn’t always work that way.”

Eleanor smiled again, the corners of her mouth lifting in a way that was both gentle and unshakable.
“It always has for me, Claire,” she said softly.

Claire let out a sigh, glancing at the fountain as if hoping it held the answer she couldn’t give. The water sparkled in the sunlight, but no clarity came.

She squeezed Eleanor’s hand gently. “I hope you’re right,” she murmured, though the doubt in her voice lingered.

Eleanor tilted her head toward the fountain, her gaze faraway. “I know I am,” she whispered, as if speaking to the universe itself.
The morning sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on the room as Claire tidied up Eleanor’s bedside table.

The faint hum of voices in the hallway signaled the start of another busy day at the nursing home.

The door swung open suddenly, and Andrew strode in, his polished shoes tapping against the wooden floor. A man in a sharp suit followed closely behind, holding a leather briefcase.

“Mother, good to see you again,” Andrew said briskly, offering a fleeting smile. His tone lacked warmth, carrying more urgency than affection.
Eleanor’s face lit up, her frail hands resting on the arms of her chair. “Andrew, you’re back! Did you bring the papers?”

“Of course,” he replied, pulling a thick stack of papers from the briefcase and placing them on the table.

“Just sign here, here, and here,” he instructed, tapping the designated spots with a pen.

Claire, who had been observing quietly from the doorway, felt her stomach churn. “Ma’am…” she began cautiously, stepping forward.

Eleanor held up a hand, her voice calm but firm. “It’s alright, Claire. I trust my son.”