Gathering my courage, I stepped out of the closet and gently interrupted the scene. My mother was startled but tried to smile, her face a mask of confusion and embarrassment. My son immediately ran to me, burying his face in my side, seeking comfort.

“Mom,” I said softly, “can we talk for a moment?”

We moved to the kitchen, leaving my son in the living room with his toys. My mother appeared disoriented, her hands trembling slightly as she sat down. I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully.

“I’ve noticed some changes in your behavior lately,” I began. “And it’s been worrying me.”