My son won the lottery, kicked me out of the house, and said: “You’re worthless! Go live in a nursing home.” I wandered aimlessly to clear my mind. When I sat down on a bench, a homeless man walked up to me, smiled, and said: “You look just like my late wife…”

“Where, too?” he asked gently.

I gave him the address for Sunset Manor, the words tasting like poison in my mouth. But as we pulled away from the house, I made a decision that surprised even me.

“Actually,” I said, my voice stronger than I felt. “Just take me to the downtown area. I need some time to think.”

As we drove through the familiar streets of the town where I’d lived my entire adult life, I realized something that chilled me to the bone. Richard had been planning this. The phone call to the nursing home, going through my personal belongings, even the timing, it was all calculated. My own son had been waiting for the right moment to throw me away like trash.

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But what hurt most wasn’t the cruelty or even the homelessness. It was the realization that the person I’d loved most in the world had never really loved me back. And now, at 69 years old, I was completely and utterly alone.Track Pregnancy