Living with my son Andrew and his resentful wife, Kate, was far from ideal. My exaggerated leg injury got me a place in their home, but Kate made it clear I was unwanted. One day, as I criticized her leaf-raking, her sharp response made me feel like a burden. To my surprise, their grumpy neighbor Mr. Davis—Peter—invited me to dinner. That simple offer changed everything.
Our dinner was awkward at first, but when I mentioned my love for jazz, something shifted. He hummed, I danced, and for the first time in years, I felt alive. We grew close, and Kate seemed oddly supportive. But on Thanksgiving, I overheard her thanking Peter for keeping up a “charade” in exchange for a record player. I was furious—had it all been fake?
