The son I had proudly watched marry the woman now standing in my living room, discussing my home as though it were an investment account.
“And where am I supposed to live?”
Amber reached into her handbag and pulled out a glossy brochure.
“We already arranged everything.”
She handed it to me.
Sunset Manor.
A senior residential facility.
I knew the place.
I had visited acquaintances there.
Its brochures showed gardens, smiling residents, cheerful staff, and elegant dining rooms.
Reality had looked very different.
“You’ll love it,” Amber said brightly. “Meals are included. Activities every day. Medical staff around the clock. You’ll be surrounded by people your own age.”
“I don’t need medical staff around the clock.”
“You may someday.”
“I’m not going.”
Dominic sighed.
“Mom, the arrangements have already been made.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“We paid six months in advance. The house closes next Friday.”
“You had no right.”
Amber’s smile disappeared.
“You’re living in the past, Vera. Someone had to make the difficult decisions. You’ve been forgetful lately, and this house requires more upkeep than you realize.”
Forgetful.
Yes, I had misplaced my glasses a few times.
I had once left groceries in the trunk for an hour.
Grief had made me scattered since Harold died.
But I was not incapable.
I was not confused.
And I certainly was not ready to surrender control of my life.
Dominic checked his watch.
“The taxi will be here in ten minutes.”
I thought I had misheard him.
“Ten minutes?”
“To take you to Sunset Manor.”
“And your flight?”
“Two ten.”
They had planned everything.
They were giving me ten minutes to say goodbye to thirty-five years of my life.
“What about my belongings?”
Amber waved one hand.
“The buyers are taking most of the furniture. We packed the important personal things and put the rest in storage.”
“You packed my belongings?”
“You can visit the storage unit whenever you want.”
Visit my own belongings.
I slowly looked around the room.
Harold’s chair beside the fireplace.
The corner where our Christmas tree had stood every December.
The doorway where we had marked Dominic and his sister Sarah’s heights as they grew.
Then a thought struck me.
“Does Sarah know?”
Dominic and Amber looked at each other.
That pause told me everything.
“Sarah lives in California,” Dominic said. “She has her own responsibilities. We didn’t want to involve her.”
My daughter called twice every week.
She would never have agreed to this.
They hadn’t spared her the burden.
They had deliberately kept her from stopping them.
A horn sounded outside.
Dominic reached for a small suitcase sitting near the door.
Apparently, they had packed for me too.
Three months of European luggage for themselves.
One small suitcase for the woman whose life they had dismantled.
As Dominic opened the door, I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror.
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