I had a doctor’s appointment the next morning and wondered whether she could help me carry groceries afterward. I even offered to buy lunch. Natalie sighed before answering. “Mom, I cannot.” I suggested Friday, but her voice became strangely formal. “You need to learn to manage on your own. Greg and I think you’re becoming far too dependent.” I reminded her this was the first time I’d asked for help with groceries. She insisted it felt like much more and suggested an assisted living center she had already researched. Then she hung up.

I walked to my bedroom and opened the old oak dresser. Inside was my will, with Natalie listed as the sole beneficiary. The house Thomas and I had paid off, my investments, savings, and life insurance amounted to nearly $720,000. Every dollar represented years of work and sacrifice. I stared at her name and wondered why someone who couldn’t spare an afternoon should inherit everything. That afternoon, I called Howard Prescott, the attorney who had handled my affairs since Thomas died. The following morning, I sat in his office and explained everything. Then I told him I wanted to change my will.