After an argument, my son left me penniless at a bus stop. A man next to me whispered, “Just pretend I’m his wife. My driver’s coming. Your son will regret not acting differently.” My name is Martha Collins. I’m 67, and I used to think I deserved a more understated respect at my age: widowed, retired, the kind of woman who leads a quiet, predictable life. Then my son, Daniel, decided that “predictable” meant he could plan my future like he plans an invitation. “It’s a wonderful place, Mom,” he insisted during the ride. “Staff on site, activities, everything.” “Everything except my voice,” I replied, trying to remain calm. “I’m not asking you to rescue me. I’m just asking you to talk to me.” He sighed, the way he used to when I forced him to read books he didn’t like. “You’re being unreasonable.” What happened next happened so fast that I didn’t even have time to realize the car was already slowing down. He parked abruptly. “Fine. If you want to prove you can manage on your own, do it.” “Daniel…” I began. He opened my door. “Get out.” I stepped onto the sidewalk in the heat, still waiting for him to calm down. Still expecting him to turn back in thirty seconds, like he always did when he regretted his outburst. But his tires spun once, and then he was gone. Only then did I realize my bag was on the kitchen counter. My wallet. My transit pass. Everything. My phone showed a low 3% battery, as if to apologize. Sitting on the metal bench, I stared at the road, feeling that heavy silence that makes you wonder if everyone has noticed you’ve been abandoned. A shadow fell across the sidewalk. An older man sat down next to me, impeccably dressed, dark glasses perched on his nose, a white cane resting against his knee. He turned his head toward me as if he could read my mind. « I can’t see, » he said softly, « but I’ve heard enough to know you deserve better than this. » « I’m fine, » I lied mechanically. He smiled, almost amused. « No, I’m not. And you don’t need to pretend. » Then he lowered his voice, just for me. « Pretend you’re my wife, » he murmured. « My driver is arriving. And your son… will think twice before treating you like this today. » “I blinked, torn between caution and something else: relief. Before I could reply, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. And that’s when I realized this stranger wasn’t offering me pity… he was proposing a plan. Continued in the first comment. 👇