I sat there watching her over the edge of my book, and I thought of how old she had become and how much she had suffered to get to the present. As she folded a shirt and moved her hand over to the pile of unironed clothes, a small pair of trousers were in her grasp before she had realised. She slowly flattened it out on the mat, while I sat there observing her features behind my book. I watched as the iron hovered over the clothing and the expression of sadness and grief spread over her features, as she quickly ironed out the creases on that little item of clothing. The brow creased, the lips sealed tightly and the eyes barely containing the tears.