My name is Margaret Collins, I’m 67 years old, and all my life I learned not to expect too much from others. Even so, after signing the winning ticket and sitting alone in the kitchen, I felt the need to test something that had been silently nagging at me for years: I wanted to know who would be there for me if I had nothing.
So I decided to test them.
I waited a few days. I let the euphoria subside. Then, with trembling hands, I picked up the phone and called Daniel, my eldest son. When he answered, my voice was deliberately weak.
“Daniel… I need money to buy my medication. I can’t afford it this month…” There was a short silence. Then the call dropped. I dialed again. Nothing. Minutes later, I realized he had blocked me.
I stared at the screen, a mixture of anger and shame on my face. I took a deep breath and called Laura, my daughter. She listened silently and answered emotionlessly:
“Mom, deal with it yourself. I have my own problems.” She didn’t even ask what medication it was. She hung up.
At that moment, I understood that the years of favors, of babysitting grandchildren, of lending money that was never repaid, meant nothing. I sat on the sofa, phone in hand, wondering if I had been a fool my whole life for expecting affection where there was only self-interest.
Hours passed. It was already night when I heard a car stop in front of my house. I thought it was a mistake. But someone knocked on the door. When I opened it, I saw Ethan, my 18-year-old grandson, with dark circles under his eyes and wrinkled clothes.
