mother— the culinary prodigy, the food critic— asked me, ‘who’s the new cook?’ my perfect coq au vin, her favorite, a dish I’d perfected every single day, every day, for years. a diagnostic term for that, for her… her dementia? amnesia? a kind of erasure. after the divorce, at 50, I was erased too, felt like it anyway—friends gone, no one remembered my name. but this… this was different. this was her forgetting ME, my labor, my love. a quiet devastation. a wound that won't close.
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