After a violent argument, my son left me at a bus stop, with no money, almost no battery, and only one certainty: in his eyes, I was no longer able to direct my own life.
At 67 years old, widowed for five years, a former literature teacher, I never imagined I would find myself sitting on a hot bench in the afternoon sun, watching my son’s car disappear around the corner.
Our disagreement was about his obsession with placing me in a seniors’ residence. For him, it was a practical solution. For me, a sanitized prison that would take away what little independence I had left.
When I realized that I had forgotten my purse and that my phone barely showed 3% battery, shame overwhelmed me. I was alone, with no money, no way to get home, abandoned by my own child.
It was then that a calm voice rose up next to me.
An elegant man, with dark glasses and a white cane leaning against the bench, spoke to me in a low voice. He had heard me. He understood.
« Pretend to be my wife. My driver arrives. Your son will regret leaving you here. »
His proposal seemed absurd to me at first. Yet in his tone there was neither pity nor condescension. Just a quiet dignity. His name was Robert Wilson.
A few minutes later, a black car stopped in front of us.
Against all habits, I accepted his help.
This simple journey would turn my life upside down.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
