My name is Margaret Ellington, and at seventy years old, I never imagined the cruelest words I would ever hear would come from my own daughter. Six months earlier, my daughter Lily—recently divorced and struggling financially—had shown up at my door with her two children. I had been living alone in my large five-bedroom home on the outskirts of Denver ever since my husband passed away. When Lily broke down and told me her husband had left her for a younger woman, I didn’t hesitate to take her in.
For illustration purposes only
“Mom, I have nowhere else to go,” she cried. “Please… just until I get back on my feet.”
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