His shoes still beside the back door.
His reading glasses on the nightstand.
Melissa had been at my house almost every day.
Back then, she sounded like a loving daughter.
“Mom, you shouldn’t be alone.”
“Mom, the house is too much for you.”
“Mom, come stay with us.”
She and Grant owned a large brick home in a newer subdivision outside Richmond.
The lower level had its own entrance and enough room, they told me, to build a private suite.
Bedroom.
Bathroom.
Sitting area.
Little kitchenette.
“You’ll have independence,” Melissa promised.
“And we’ll have peace of mind knowing you’re close.”
I was grieving.
I was frightened.
I believed her.
So I sold the little Cape Cod where Henry and I had raised our family.
After the mortgage and fees were settled, I had approximately $268,000 left.
