“I’ve found a small apartment. The first month’s rent is already paid. After that, you’ll need to live on your pensions.”
Sarah added quietly.
“We’re not leaving you homeless. But we can’t trust you with our home or our money anymore.”
George sank into a chair. For the first time, he had nothing to say.
The following morning, as we packed our belongings, our nine-year-old granddaughter, Lily, approached me holding our vacation photograph.
“Grandma, were you really happy there?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Then why didn’t you take us with you? Mommy said we could all have gone on vacation together with that money.”
I held her tightly.
Nothing anyone had said hurt more than that innocent question.
Two days later, we moved into a tiny rented apartment. George complained about the cramped kitchen and uncomfortable sofa.
One evening, I finally told him:
“We’ve spent enough time thinking about our own comfort. It’s time to give our children their money back.”
