My son told me hed bought me a cottage in the countrysidebut when we arrived, I felt the ground vanish beneath my feet.
My name is Arthur, and Im 78 years old.
Never in my life did I imagine Id seek advice from strangers, yet here I am. I need your perspective.
I spent most of my adult years as a single father. My wife, Margaret, passed from cancer when our son, William (now 35), was just ten.
It was a dark time for us both, but we weathered it together. From then on, it was just the two of us against the world. I tried to be both mother and father to him, working tirelessly to give him every opportunity in life.
William grew into a fine young man. Of course, he had his rebellious phases, but by and large, he was kind, hardworking, and steady. He did well in school, earned a partial scholarship to university, and after graduating, landed a good job in finance.
I was always fiercely proud of him, watching him blossom into a capable adult. We stayed close even after he moved outwe spoke regularly and had dinner together at least once a week.
“Dad,” he said, unable to meet my eyes. “I’m 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 to me?”
“Dad, please.” Finally, William looked at me, his eyes pleading.
“Lately, youve been forgetting things. Im worried about you living alone. This place has excellent facilitiestherell always be someone nearby if you need help.”
“Forgetting things? Everyone forgets things sometimes!” I shouted, furious tears spilling down my cheeks.
“Thats not true, William. Take me home. Now.”
William shook his head and then dropped the days cruelest blow.
“I cant, Dad. I Ive already sold the house.”
My legs threatened to buckle beneath me.
I knew Id agreed to the sale, but I thought I had time. I wanted to meet the new owners, to choose a good family, to explain how to care for the old oak tree in the garden.
Which was why what happened just over a year ago left me reeling. It was a Tuesday evening when William came to my house, buzzing with excitement.
“Dad,” he said, “Ive got brilliant news! Ive bought you a cottage in the countryside!”
“A cottage? William, what are you on about?”
“Its perfect, Dad. Quiet, peacefuljust what you need. Youll love it!”
I was stunned. Move away from here? It felt like too big a step.
“William, you shouldnt have done that. Im fine where I am.”
But he insisted.
“No, Dad, you deserve this. The house is too big for you now. Its time for a change. Trust me, youll love it.”
Ill admit, I was sceptical. The house had been our family home for over 30 years. It was where William had grown up, where Margaret and I had built our life together. But my son seemed so sure, so certain this was the right thing. And I trusted him completely.
After all, wed always been honest with each other.
So despite my doubts, I agreed to move and sell the house. In the days that followed, I packed my things while William handled the arrangements. He assured me everything was sorted. He was so meticulous, I let my worries fade.
The day finally came to leave for my new home. As we drove, William talked eagerly about the cottages features. But the further we got from the city, the heavier my unease grew.
The scenery grew bleaknot the idyllic countryside Id imagined, with rolling green hills and charming villages. Instead, empty fields stretched out, monotonous and lifeless, dotted with the shell of an abandoned farmhouse.
The cottages Id once admiredones Margaret and I had dreamt ofwere warm, welcoming, nestled in nature. This place was nothing like that.
“William,” I asked, “are you sure this is the right way? This doesnt look like the countryside I remember.”
He insisted we were on track, but I noticed he wouldnt meet my gaze.
After an hour, we turned down a long, winding lane. At the end stood a grim, looming building. My heart stopped as I read the sign: *Sunset Haven.*
This wasnt a cottage.
It was a care home.
