Sold all the houses in the countryside to live with my son for 20 days, ate leftover rice and was still looked down upon by my children.

I sold my small house in the countryside and packed my bags to move to the city to live with my eldest son and his wife. I thought that in my old age I would be close to my children and grandchildren, but in less than 20 days I felt my heart heavy.

The rice was quickly poured into the bowl, accidentally dropping a grain of rice on the table, causing the daughter-in-law to frown, and the son to growl:

– “Mom, eat carefully, or the whole house will be dirty!”

I sat silently, tears rolling down my face. That night, I accidentally heard a whisper from the couple’s room:

– “Mom is old, taking care of her will only add to the burden.”
– “Why don’t you send her back to the countryside, send her a little money every month to fulfill your duty.”

I felt like someone was squeezing my heart. I didn’t blame my child, I just blamed myself for being old and weak, becoming a burden. The next morning, I woke up early, packed some old clothes into a plastic bag, lied that I missed home, and took the bus home alone.

But just  30 minutes after arriving at the village entrance , the phone in my pocket vibrated continuously. The caller was my neighbor in the city, her voice trembling:

– “Grandma… your son’s house… is on fire! They just took everyone to the hospital…”

I was stunned, my limbs went limp, the bag in my hand fell to the ground. The neighbors saw me collapse and quickly helped me in. In my head, there was only one question:  did God intentionally let me leave, so that he could keep one last life?