My name is Bertha, a sixty-seven-year-old retired teacher and widow.
Three weeks ago, when my lease ended, I moved in with my son David and his wife Melissa, thinking it would be temporary. I imagined it as a blessingtime with family, easing into retirement while helping them out. After raising David alone, working tirelessly and saving every penny, I never expected what came next.
At first, I felt hopeful. I settled into the guest room, placed my late husband’s photo on the nightstand, cooked meals, and tidied up while they worked. I thought I was being helpful. Wanted.
Then the tension began. Melissas remarks grew sharpercomments about hot water usage, the pantry arrangement, suggesting I find a hobby to stay out of the way. I ignored them, not wanting trouble.
But one evening, as I set the table, Melissa crossed her arms. “Bertha, you cant stay here for free. This isnt a shelter.”
Stunned, I looked to Davidmy son, my pridebut he stayed silent, eyes fixed on his phone.
That night, I lay awake, heart aching. The next morning, I found my suitcases packed by the door.
Its best if you leave, Melissa said, avoiding my eyes. David stood behind her, silent as ever.
I forced a smile, called a taxi, and left.
What they didnt know? For years, Id quietly saved, planning to buy their house and free them from rent. But as the cab drove away, I realizedthat dream was gone.
From my hotel, I called David. “I was going to surprise you with the house,” I said. “But now? That money will fund my travels instead.”
Silence. Then panicked callspleas from David, messages from Melissa. But I stood firm.
Soon after, I booked my first cruise. The agent grinned. “Youll have the time of your life.”
David still begs for forgiveness. Maybe one day, Ill answer. But not today.
Yesterday, I was a mother folding laundry. Today, Im a woman embracing freedom. This isnt bitternessits an awakening.
Because sometimes, you must choose yourselfand thats exactly what Im doing.
