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A phone that never lights up<\/p>\n
I try to recall the last time my son bent down to tie my shoes or carried a heavy shopping bag without complaint. The memory feels blurred, almost like it belongs to someone else\u2019s life. These days, when I call him, the line rings endlessly, then cuts to silence. He says his schedule is overflowing, but I know he still answers his mother\u2019s messages.<\/p>\n
So on the afternoon I stood stranded on the pavement in Bordeaux, my shoelaces undone and my knees aching from arthritis, it wasn\u2019t my son who noticed.<\/p>\n
It was a tall man in a worn leather jacket, his arms covered in inked swirls, his hands wrapped in gloves frayed from years of riding. He crouched in front of me as if there was nowhere else in the world he had to be, and he tied my shoes with the patience of someone folding a child\u2019s blanket.<\/p>\n
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