Showed Up On Christmas, But My Son Said, “Sorry, I Think You’re At The Wrong House.” Stunned, I Left. Minutes Later, He Called: “Relax, Mom. We Just Want Some Peace.” I Said, “I Understand.” But He Forgot To Hang Up: “She Thinks That Help She Sends Every Month Means She Gets A Say.” I Paused The Monthly Help.

The constant worry that had etched itself into my features over the years seemed less pronounced. At the hotel reception desk, I extended my stay for three more days. I needed time to think.

To plan. Then I walked to a nearby café, ordered a cappuccino and breakfast, and pulled out my tablet. For years, I’d dreamed of traveling, but had always found reasons not to.

The children might need me. The money could help them instead. It wasn’t safe for a woman my age to travel alone.

All excuses that had kept me tethered to a life that had slowly drained me. Now, with surprising clarity, I booked a one-way ticket to Bangkok, departing in 2 days. Thailand had always fascinated me with its temples and vibrant street life.

From there, I could make my way through Southeast Asia at my own pace. The thought sent a thrill through me, a feeling I barely recognized as excitement. My phone continued to vibrate on the table.

This time it was Sophie, her name flashing insistently on the screen. After a moment’s hesitation, I answered. “Mom, finally.

What’s going on with the transfers? Mark said his didn’t go through either.”

No greeting. No how are you.

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