After working nearly four decades at the same clinic, I retired at seventy with pride. I picked up my grandson’s favorite cake, excited to celebrate with my son Thomas, his wife Delia, and my two grandkids — all of whom lived in my home. But when I arrived, the front door was locked, my key didn’t work, and two suitcases sat neatly on the porch. A note from Delia said my room at a senior facility was “ready” and warned me to follow her plan if I wanted to see the kids again. She’d even told Thomas it was my idea to leave.
Shocked, I turned to my longtime friend Bonnie, who welcomed me in. As we talked, I confessed I had put the house in Thomas and Delia’s name, believing it would help with taxes. Bonnie suspected Delia was hiding something and encouraged me to watch closely before confronting her. The next day, we saw Delia welcome the gardener, Gary, into the house while Thomas was away. Using a small pet camera my grandson had given me, we recorded proof that Delia and Gary were more than “friends.”
When Thomas returned, we played the footage in the backyard for him to see. At first, he was stunned, then devastated. I handed him the original note Delia had left with my suitcases, and he realized she had lied to both of us. Without raising his voice, he told her to pack and leave. Sitting beside him afterward, we admitted we’d both been fooled but were ready to move forward together.
That night, Bonnie and I picked up the grandkids from chess club to spend the night with us. Thomas stayed behind to handle the rest. Looking at my home from across the street, I knew one thing for sure — retirement might have arrived, but I wasn’t about to let anyone decide my future for me.