After A Major Storm Damaged My Home, My Daughter Said, “Just Stay In Your Car A Little Longer – I’m Busy.” So I Did. Now, Months Later, I Live In My Own Beautiful Home. When She And Her Husband Showed Up With Moving Boxes, Saying, “It’s Perfect For Our Nursery,”

“My aunt Tilly died.

She left me her house and some money.”

“Aunt Tilly? I thought she died years ago. How much money?”

There it was.

Not, I’m so sorry for your loss. Or, how wonderful that you have a home again. Just.

How much money? “Enough,” I said. “Well, that’s fantastic news.

Frank and I were just talking about how we could help you get back on your feet. This solves everything. “When are you coming home?”

Home.

As if the car I’d been sleeping in for three months was home. As if the parking lot behind a defunct grocery store was where I belonged. “I’m not sure I am coming home, Jane.”

Another pause.

“What do you mean? Your life is here. Emma misses her grandmother.

And with the new baby coming—”

“You seem to manage just fine with me sleeping in my car for three months.”

“Mom, that’s not fair. We offered to let you stay with us for six weeks.”

“Until Frank got tired of seeing me.”

“That’s not— Look, maybe we didn’t handle things perfectly, but we’re family. “This inheritance is wonderful, but you don’t need to run away to California.

We can help you find a nice place here, close to us.”

Close to them. Close enough to be convenient when they needed babysitting or help with household projects, but not so close as to be a daily reminder of their capacity for callousness. “I need to think about things,” I said.

“Think about what? Mom, you’re not making sense. Come home.

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