"I'm her daughter," I say.

The nurse frowns and shakes her head. "We were told she didn't have any family. Nobody's been here to see her."

Her words land sharp and heavy on my heart. I glance at my mother's face, wrinkled and sun worn. Who did they imagine my mother to be? Another homeless woman, unloved and forgotten? Slowly, I walk toward her and rest my hands on the rail of her bed. "I came as soon as I could," I say—in her defense, and mine.

Excerpted from Dog Flowers by Danielle Geller. Copyright © 2021 by Danielle Geller. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.