“You should not be living alone at your age because what would happen if you fell and no one was around to notice?” he asked with a fake tone of concern. There was that manipulative phrase my children always used when they wanted to force me into doing something that benefited them.
It was as if turning seventy had suddenly made me incapable of logical thought or as if my decades of life experience meant nothing compared to the decisions of a forty-year-old man. He could not even provide a decent home for his own family yet he felt qualified to manage my entire existence.
The truth was that I was much better off living alone than I ever was during the long years when I was married to a demanding man. I could watch my favorite cooking shows without anyone changing the channel and I could cook exactly what I wanted to eat every single night.
I had finally learned how to use my smartphone and I had a wonderful group chat with my neighbors where we shared news and support. I walked in the local park every single morning and I certainly did not need anyone to look after me like I was a helpless child.