My daughter-in-law laughed as she gave me a $2 scratch-off for my 73rd birthday. Ten months later, my own son shoved a senior living brochure in front of me and said, “We already picked your room.” They thought I was too old to fight back. They had no idea what I had been hiding.

“Does anyone else know?”

“No.”

“Then don’t say a word just yet.”

Over the next few months, my routine didn’t change. I kept making dinner, clipping coupons, folding towels, and smiling when Jessica spoke to me like an employee who should be grateful for a roof over her head.

But something inside me had changed.

For the first time since Arthur died, I began making plans that didn’t depend on Colin.

And then, two weeks before December, my son made the decision I had been putting off for months.

During dinner, he set his fork down on his plate.

“Mom, Jessica and I have been talking.”

Jessica smiled that tense, familiar smile of hers.

Colin slid a glossy brochure across the table toward me.

Oakridge Estates.

On the cover was a white-haired couple playing pickleball.

“We went to check it out,” Jessica said. “We think you’re going to love it.”