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.

“Yes, it was.”

She nodded, accepting the answer.

We talked for almost an hour.

I told her about Arthur, about how lonely the house felt after he died, and about why I had accepted Colin’s invitation in the first place.

I admitted that I had sometimes stayed silent rather than asking for changes, because I feared being unwelcome.

“I couldn’t tell the difference between being needed and being loved,” I said.

Jessica pressed her lips together.