he suggested a nursing home. That was the moment everything changed. I said nothing at first. Then I quietly put a “For Sale” sign on the lawn. Gloria panicked. Trent was furious. But I reminded them the house was in my name. “If I can’t bring my mother here, I’ll move closer to her,” I said. That night, I gave Trent an envelope—itemized expenses I’d paid over the years. “If this is your house too, feel free to buy me out.” Then I handed him divorce papers. Within a week,they moved out. I pulled the sign, brought my mom home, and finally had peace. But when Gloria had a mild stroke days later, Mom insisted we help. We sent soup. A kind letter. Gloria cried—and apologized. She had nowhere to go, so we let her move in temporarily. Turns out,
my home was a rehab facility after all. The divorce went through. Trent moved out of state. My mom and Gloria, somehow, bonded. We planted roses where the “For Sale” sign had stood. Funny how healing sometimes begins with letting go—and ends with something unexpected: grace.
