They were looking at her now like she was a problem to be solved, a burden to be managed. “And what about you?” Elellanena asked quietly. “Your father left me a small inheritance, just $15,000, but it’s mine. Would that go toward this facility?” Richard and Diane exchanged glances. “Well,” Richard said carefully, “brookside requires residents to contribute what they can toward their care, but honestly, Aunt Ellanena, $15,000 won’t last long anywhere. You’d be better off using it for the move and initial costs.” “I see,” Elellanena repeated.
She took a sip of water, her hand perfectly steady, despite the rage building in her chest. “So, you’ve planned my entire future. How thoughtful. Someone had to, Diane said, her edge creeping into her voice. You clearly weren’t going to do it yourself. You’re living in denial, Aunt Elellanena. You’re 60 years old with no job, no prospects, and no family to take care of you because you’re certainly not offering, Eleanor said quietly. The table fell silent. Richard cleared his throat.
We have our own families, our own responsibilities. We can’t take you in. Surely you understand that. Oh, I understand perfectly, Eleanor said. She stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. “Thank you for dinner, and for making everything so clear.” “Aunt Ellanena, sit down,” Richard said, his voice low and urgent, aware of other diners glancing over. “We haven’t even ordered yet. I’ve lost my appetite.” “You’re being ridiculous,” Diane hissed. “We’re trying to help you.” Eleanor looked at her niece, this woman she’d taught to read, whose scraped knees she’d bandaged, whose homework she’d checked, and saw nothing but contempt thinly veiled as concern.
No, Eleanor said softly. You’re trying to make me disappear. There’s a difference. She walked out of the restaurant with her head high and her back straight. But once she reached her car, a 15-year-old sedan held together by prayer and routine maintenance, she allowed herself to cry. They’d called her a burden, a lost cause, someone with no prospects, no value, no future worth preserving. Elellanena sat in her car in the restaurant parking lot, tears streaming down her face, and made a decision.
she would never ever be at the mercy of people who saw her as nothing more than an inconvenient problem again. That night, back in her small apartment, Elellanena pulled out a box she’d been keeping in her closet. Inside were dozens of architectural surveys, historical documents, and property listings she’d been collecting for the past 6 months. Her nephew was right about one thing. Her $15,000 wouldn’t last long if she tried to live on it. But it might be enough for something else.
