I picked up the phone, not to call my children, but my late husband’s lawyer.
“Hello, Mr. Miller. This is Kimberly.
I need to see you urgently.
I want to review some property papers.”
Then I looked at the photos on the shelf.
“And one more thing,” I added. “I want to change my will.”
That first night home was long.
My hip throbbed, but the cold from the empty fridge was what kept me awake.
Abandonment has the bitter taste of spoiled food.
When the pale dawn broke, my decision was made. The fragile woman from yesterday had stayed in that Uber.
The woman who woke up today had a stitched hip and a to-do list.
It took me twenty minutes to walk from the bedroom to the kitchen with my walker.
The pain burned, but anger fueled me.
I opened the fridge, looked at the dried lemon, and said to myself, “If I can order an Uber, I can order coffee.”
I unlocked my phone and ordered bread, milk, cheese, coffee, and a jar of the finest strawberry jam.
Because if I was going to live alone, I’d live with dignity.
While waiting for the delivery, I returned to my desk and opened the black notebook, my faithful companion. Through the years, I could almost hear Albert’s voice in my mind.
“Kimberly, you’re not just keeping records. You’re running your life.”
I stared at the notebook as if looking into a mirror.
It was time to examine gratitude—or rather, ingratitude.
I turned to Richard’s page.
My eldest. The engineer, my pride, the man who built skyscrapers but couldn’t keep a promise.
Lucy—the gentle dentist I was once so proud of.
Her name was on the rental contract for the apartment her son Lucas lived in.
The boy attended a private college, but seemed to think rent was optional.
Three months unpaid.
“Mom, just hold it for me. My clinic is slow.”
So slow that her smiling face still showed up on social media drinking champagne on a weekend yacht in Florida.
Maybe her clinic struggled, but her boat certainly didn’t.
What company?
No one knew.
Finally, Brian. The youngest, the one I could never be firm with.
There was no note for him, just the bank statements showing an automatic transfer every first day of the month.
Tuition support.
Brian was 35. If he were still studying, he’d have a PhD by now.
But the only thing he studied was how fast money hit his account.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
