It took me about a half hour to drive to Mrs. Crabtree's house.

I'm fine. Just get there.

Since I've technically finished both of the supervised visits I'm required to do, I was

voluntold to spearhead a solo shift. I could handle it.

I looked through the binder Natalie gave me. Irregular breathing,

glassy eyes, modeled discoloration on the feet and knees. The last few times Natalie and I worked,

Mrs. Crabtree's house, nothing of note ever happened. I just doomscrolled on my phone for most

of the 12 hours that I was there.

Half the time, she's not lucid enough to acknowledge anyone in the room.

For the most part, Natalie handles all the family stuff.

I'm just there to be a sponge, take notes, get through the steps.

Natalie called out today.

We were already so understaffed as it is. She's my lifeline. As embarrassing as that is to admit.

I had minutes away now.

I had to get gas on the way there.

It always passes.

I just have to ride it out and do my job.

I skim that binder.

I know I did.

Every single page I flipped through is sitting in my bag right now, and I can feel all of them.

Five minutes away now.

I met at the door by a disheveled woman.

...