For the person at the center of it all
Still your day. Still your say. Still your story.
WellTended doesn’t watch you. There’s no camera, no checklist, nothing to learn — just one warm button that tells the people who love you that you’re okay, so they can stop hovering and go back to just being yours.
Big type, one tap, made for real hands.
A story we tell a lot
Rose, 82, was sure she didn’t want “a monitoring app.” Her daughter promised: one button, no cameras, nothing to learn. The first night, Rose tapped goodnight mostly to humor her. Forty miles away, Diane watched a little moon rise over her mother’s name — and slept through the night for the first time in months. Rose figured that part out quickly. Some nights now, she taps it a little early. “It’s me tucking her in,” she says. “For a change.”
Rose and Diane are an illustration — a family we made up so we don’t make up reviews.
One day, one tap at a time
A good day, kept good.
Here’s what WellTended actually asks of you between waking up and goodnight. Not much. That’s the point.
8:30 AM
Your pills nudge you. Nobody phones to check.
The reminder shows up where you already look — big type, right on your phone. One tap says taken, and the whole family simply knows. No morning check-up call required.
10:15 AM
Your numbers, measured against your doctor’s goal
Take your blood pressure like always and tap it in — big fields, no fiddling. (With the Family plan, your cuff sends it over on its own.) WellTended holds it against the target your own doctor set — not some stranger’s chart. In range, a quiet check. Off it, your family gets a gentle heads-up long before it’s a drama.
12:40 PM
The ride sorts itself out
Thursday’s lift to physical therapy? Tyler from next door claimed it off the crew board days ago. You never had to ask twice — and helpers only ever see the errand list. Never your chart.
3:00 PM
“How are you feeling?” is one face, not a form
Appetite, sleep, mood — you tap a face, not a questionnaire. It quietly keeps track, so the small changes get noticed while they’re still small.
7:20 PM
A little love comes back
You tapped a face after lunch; someone who loves you sent a little love back from three states away. It’s waiting the next time you open the app. That’s the whole feature. It’s our favorite one.
9:58 PM
The goodnight
One tap. On every phone that loves you, the moon rises. Everyone sleeps — you first.
No manual. No settings. No tech skills required.
One tap, mostly
Everything important is a single big button — goodnight, taken, a face.
Big type, warm faces
Numbers where they help, faces where they’re kinder — readable on the good days and the rough ones.
Made for you, first
Not an afterthought bolted on for the family — your day is what the whole app is built around.
Another story we tell
Eli, 16, is autistic, and the worst part of his week used to be the questions — how was your day, how are you feeling, rate it one to ten. Every answer a small performance. Now, most days, he answers with one tap: a face, no words owed. His support worker arrives when the app says she will — Tuesday, 3:30, never a surprise. And when his mom checks in from work, she isn’t checking on him: he can see everything she sees. There is no secret version of Eli. That’s his favorite part.
Eli’s an illustration too — we make up people, never reviews.
Your story, kept
Every warm moment, quietly saved.
The check-ins, the little loves, the notes and thank-yous — WellTended keeps them in a Memories archive, and can bind them into a keepsake Book of Care. Not a medical file. A life, in moments — the book your family will fight over someday.
Your record. Your rules.
Locked to you
Face ID opens it. Your face.
Nothing about you without you
You see everything your family sees. There is no secret version.
Helpers see errands, never your chart
The neighbor who drives you Thursday sees the errand board — and nothing else.
Delete means delete
Say the word and it’s gone. Truly gone.
Maya, 38, came home from surgery to her sister’s guest room and a rotation of hovering helpers. She gave the app a week, tops. Six weeks of recovery later, the crew board had quietly run forty-one errands, her mom — two states away — watched the moon rise each night instead of calling at 10 PM to ask if she’d eaten, and Maya kept her door closed exactly as often as she wanted it. She’s healed now. The app’s deleted. The hovering never came back.
Maya’s an illustration too. We’d rather invent a skeptic than fake a review.
Tonight, let the moon do the telling.
Ask the one who worries most to set it up with you — ten minutes, side by side. Then tap goodnight, and let the whole house exhale.
For you, first. iPhone, iPad & Mac.