My son told me hed gifted me a country house, yet when we arrived I felt the ground slipping beneath me.
My name is Ricardo, Im 78 years old.
I never imagined Id seek advice from strangers, but here I am, needing your thoughts.
I spent most of my adult years as a single father. My wife, Emilia, died of cancer when our son Miguel was only ten; hes now 35.
Those were tough times for both of us, but we got through it together. Since then its been just the two of us against the world. I did everything I could to be both mother and father, working nonstop to give him every chance possible.
Miguel grew up to be a good boy. He had his rebellious phases, but overall he was kind, diligent, and seemed sensible. He did well in school, earned a partial scholarship to university, and after graduating secured a solid job in finance.
Ive always been very proud of him and watched him become a successful adult. We stayed close even after he moved out: we called regularly and shared a dinner at least once a week.
Dad, he said, unable to meet my eyes, Im sorry. I told you it was a little house, but this will be better for you. Theyll take care of you here.
Take care of me? I dont need anyone looking after me! Im completely independent. Why did you lie?
Dad, please. At last Miguel looked into my eyes, pleading.
Lately youve been forgetting things. I worry about you living alone. This place has great facilities and someone will always be nearby if you need help.
Forgetful? Everybody forgets now and then! I shouted, tears of anger streaming down my face.
Its not true, Miguel. Take me home right now.
Miguel shook his head and then delivered the most shocking news of the day:
I cant do that, Dad. I already sold the house.
It felt as if the floor gave way beneath me.
I knew I had agreed to sell it, but I thought I had more time. I wanted to meet the new owners, pick a good family, and explain how to look after the old oak in the yard.
So what happened a little over a year ago hit me like a bolt. It was a Tuesday night when Miguel arrived at my house, visibly excited.
Dad, he said, I have great news! I bought you a little house in the country!
A little house? Miguel, what are you talking about?
Its the perfect spot, Dadquiet, peaceful exactly what you need. Youll love it!
I was taken aback. Moving to a house far away seemed too big a step.
Miguel, you didnt have to do this. Im fine here.
But he persisted:
No, Dad, you deserve it. The home you live in now is too big for you alone. Its time for a change. Trust me, itll be wonderful.
I must admit I was skeptical. The house wed lived in for more than thirty years was our family home. Miguel grew up there, Emilia and I built our life there. Yet my son seemed so thrilled, so convinced it was the right choice, and I trusted him completely.
After all, we had always been honest with each other.
So, despite my doubts, I agreed to move and sell my house. In the following days I packed my belongings and prepared to leave, while Miguel handled most of the arrangements. He assured me everything was planned. His thoughtfulness eased my worries.
Finally, the day arrived to go to my new home. As we got into the car, Miguel listed all the comforts the new place offered. But the farther we drove from the city, the more uneasy I felt.
The scenery grew increasingly bleak. It wasnt the picturesque countryside Id imaginedno green hills or attractive landscapes. Instead of familiar neighbors and bustling streets, there were empty, monotonous fields and even an abandoned farm.
The little houses I had once admired, when Emilia was still with us, were cozy, pleasant, and surrounded by nature. This was completely different.
Miguel, I asked, are you sure were heading the right way? This doesnt look like the countryside I pictured.
He insisted we were on the correct route, but I noticed he avoided looking at me.
After about an hour we turned onto a long, winding road. At the end stood a large, bland building. My heart stopped when I read the sign: Sunset Haven.
It wasnt a little house. It was a senior living residence.
