“Besides, you’re retired now,” my daughter‑in‑law, Jessica, announced, standing in the middle of the living room with her hands on her hips. Her chemically curled hair was pulled back into a high, tight ponytail. “You’re just sitting around the house doing nothing anyway. You cannot just live here for free.”

I slowly set down my teacup, my fingers trembling slightly. The rag smelled of acrid grease—probably from wiping down the kitchen stovetop.

“Jess, what kind of way is that to talk to my mom?” my son Daniel said as he walked out of the bedroom, his suit crisp and his tie perfectly knotted. A flicker of warmth sparked in my chest, but it was extinguished just as quickly when he continued, “Mom’s getting older. You have to be a little more delicate.”

He walked over and stood before me, looking down with that familiar, impatient smile.