At 54, I Moved In With a Man I Barely Knew So I Wouldn’t Be a Burden to My Daughter

put my keys to his apartment on the kitchen table—the same table where we’d eaten meals together, where he’d smiled at me during those first optimistic weeks.

I wrote a short note on a piece of paper torn from a notebook:

“I can’t do this anymore. Please don’t contact me. I need to heal. —Margaret”

Then I closed the door behind me and walked out into continue reading …