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.

I sat down on the floor and read it twice.

Arthur had not been a perfect husband.

We had argued about money, family holidays, and whether the kitchen needed remodeling.

But he had seen me clearly.

It hurt to think how often I had stopped seeing myself after he was gone.

I placed his letter on the windowsill where the afternoon sun could reach it.

I did not need to become someone new in order to reclaim my life.

I needed to remember the woman who had been there all along.