My son told me he bought me a countryside cottagebut when I arrived, the ground dropped from beneath my feet.
My name is Robert, and Im 78 years old.
I never thought Id seek advice from strangers, but here I am. I need your perspective.
I spent most of my adult life as a single father. My wife, Margaret, passed from cancer when our son, William (now 35), was just ten.
It was a difficult time for both of us, but we weathered it together. From then on, it was just the two of us against the world. I worked tirelessly to give him every opportunitytrying to be both mother and father.
William grew into a fine young man. Of course, he had his rebellious moments, but he was kind, hardworking, and sensible. He excelled in school, earned a partial scholarship to university, and later landed a good job in finance.
I was always immensely proud of him. Even after he moved out, we stayed closespeaking regularly and sharing dinner at least once a week.
“Dad,” he said, unable to meet my eyes. “Im sorry. I know I told you it was a cottage, but this will be better for you. Theyll take care of you here.”
“Take care of me? I dont need looking after! Im perfectly independent. Why would you lie?”
“Please, Dad.” Finally, he looked at me, his eyes pleading.
“Lately, youve been forgetting things. I worry about you living alone. This place has excellent facilities, and therell always be someone nearby if you need help.”
“Forgetting things? Everyone forgets things sometimes!” I shouted, tears of anger spilling down my cheeks.
“Thats not true, William. Take me home. Now.”
William shook his head. Then came the worst blow of all:
“I cant, Dad. I Ive already sold the house.”
The floor vanished beneath me.
Id agreed to the sale, but I thought I had time. I wanted to meet the new owners, choose a good family, explain how to care for the old oak in the garden.
A little over a year ago, something had shocked me. It was a Tuesday evening when William arrived at my house, brimming with excitement.
“Dad,” he said, “Ive got wonderful news! Ive bought you a cottage in the countryside!”
“A cottage? William, what are you talking about?”
“Its perfectquiet, peaceful, just what you need. Youll love it!”
I was stunned. Move away from here? It felt too drastic.
“William, you shouldnt have. Im fine where I am.”
But he insisted.
“No, Dad, you deserve this. The house is too big for you alone. Its time for a change. Trust me, youll be happy.”
Ill admit I was doubtful. That house had been our family home for over 30 years. William had grown up there; Margaret and I had built our life together within its walls. But my son seemed so certain, so convinced it was the right decision. And I trusted him completely.
After all, wed always been honest with each other.
So despite my reservations, I agreed to move. In the following days, I packed while William handled the details. He assured me everything was arrangedso thoroughly that I set aside my worries.
Then came moving day. As we drove, William chatted about the new places amenities. But the further we got from town, the more uneasy I grew.
The surroundings grew bleakernot the picturesque countryside Id imagined, with rolling green hills and charming villages. Instead, empty fields stretched out, monotonous and dull, even an abandoned farmhouse.
The cottages Margaret and I had once admired were warm, welcoming, nestled in nature. But this? This was nothing like them.
“William,” I asked, “are we going the right way? This doesnt look like the countryside.”
He assured me we were, but he wouldnt meet my gaze.
After an hour, we turned onto a long, winding road. At the end stood a grim, imposing building. My heart stopped when I read the sign: *Willowbrook Manor.*
It wasnt a cottage. It was a care home.
Sometimes, the people who love us most make decisions they believe are rightwithout realizing theyre breaking our hearts. Trust must walk hand in hand with truth.
