Mom gave me the same answer.
“It’s perfectly fine.”
“Mom, that mattress is older than my marriage.”
She once gave me a tiny smile.
“So is your father.”
Conversation over.
What always confused me was how strongly they resisted.
Money wasn’t the problem.
They could easily afford a replacement.
And my parents weren’t hoarders.
Dad threw things away without hesitation.
Mom had donated half my childhood belongings years ago.
They weren’t emotionally attached to furniture.
Except for that mattress.
That one object they protected with a stubbornness I never understood.
