She gave me a knowing smile. “Well, it feels like the right time now. And I deserve it, don’t I?”
“You look great, Sharon,” I said politely, hoping that would end it.
That evening, Jason was unusually quiet, his face buried in his phone. I could tell something was weighing on him, but I didn’t want to push. He’d always had trouble standing up to his mother, and I knew these conversations about her facelift were probably stressing him out.
A serious man | Source: Pexels
Later, I walked past the living room and overheard him on the phone, his voice low and careful.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll handle it.”
A few days later, I found Sharon sprawled on our couch, flipping through a glossy magazine filled with photos of women who didn’t look a day over thirty.
“Hey, Sharon,” I greeted her, forcing a smile.
A smiling dark-haired woman | Source: Freepik
She barely glanced up. “Oh, hi, sweetheart. Just doing a little research. It’s about time I did something for myself.”
I glanced at the headline on the page she was reading: “The Best Facelift Clinics Near You.”
I nodded slowly, fighting the uneasy feeling settling in my stomach. “Jason’s okay with this?”
“Oh, Jason thinks it’s a great idea!” she said, grinning.