My daughter-in-law threw me out, sneering, “Go d!e on the street.” I looked at her calmly and said, “Tomorrow, a gift will arrive.” The next day, her cruelty came back to her like poison.

“Grandpa,” he whispered. “Mom says you’re leaving.”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s time I find my own place.”

His eyes filled. “Did I do something wrong?”

My heart cracked. “No, champ. This has nothing to do with you.”
“Will I see you again?”

“Of course,” I lied. I knew Cristina would make sure otherwise.

The next morning, a moving truck arrived. I had rented a tiny studio in a damp neighborhood—€450 a month, all my pension could manage.

Cristina watched with satisfaction as my things were loaded.

David appeared briefly. “Dad… this is for the best.”

“For whom?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.