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 emotional manipulation was so transparent it was almost laughable. Five minutes ago, I was having a midlife crisis.

Now, I was needed. “I’m not punishing anyone, Sophie. I’m choosing myself for once.

“I’ve already booked a flight to Thailand. I’m going to travel, see the world, use my nursing skills to volunteer abroad perhaps.”

“Thailand?” she echoed, incredulous. “Are you insane?

“What about when the baby comes? You’re just going to miss the birth of your first grandchild.”

“I’ll send gifts,” I said mildly, “just as you send birthday cards when you remember.”

There was a long silence. Then, in a voice filled with venom:

“You selfish… Dad would be so ashamed of you.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone, waiting for the pain, the guilt, the overwhelming need to call her back and apologize. It didn’t come. Instead, I felt oddly peaceful, as if the last tether binding me to my old life had been severed.

I spent the rest of the day preparing for my journey. I called my landlord to give notice on my apartment. Arranged for my sister Diane to pack up my belongings and either store or donate them.

And contacted my supervisor at the hospital to tender my resignation. 32 years of service ended with a brief phone call and a promise to email my formal letter. By evening, my phone had fallen silent.

No more calls from either of my children. I wondered if they were commiserating together, painting me as the villain in their story. The thought didn’t bother me as much as it once would have.

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