Quietly, my father asked them to pack their own things, too, hinting at “renovations.” They agreed without realizing he had a different plan in mind.
Two mornings later, a moving truck pulled into the driveway, and the crew announced a scheduled relocation for Bob and Janet to Cedar Hills Assisted Living.
Their faces went pale with sh0ck as they saw their belongings packed neatly in boxes in the garage.
Their sputtered objections didn’t get far—my father stepped forward, composed and unshaken.
“You wanted me gone,” he said evenly. “So I figured you’d appreciate a place of your own. As for this house? I’ve decided to sell it.”
Stunned into silence, Bob and Janet left in humiliation.
Days later, after John confronted them, they offered stiff apologies, but my father had already found peace.
The moving van had only been a clever ruse with help from a friend, but the message was clear.
Now, he lives content in a quiet one-bedroom with a garden terrace — the home is truly his, and his dignity remains intact.
