We divorced after he said he was tired of seeing my old face every day and wanted to find someone younger. The divorce was a mess—he fought to take my assets, left me with half of his debts, and made the whole process as painful as possible. When the papers were finally signed, I vowed never to speak to him again. For years, I kept that promise.
Months ago, my three adult children (ages 22–25) sat me down with serious expressions. That’s when I found out that their father had been diagnosed with advanced cancer. He’d lost his job, could no longer afford his home, and, according to them, had “nowhere else to go.” They asked—no, begged—if he could move in with me during what they called “his final stage.”
I was stunned. And, honestly, offended. This was the same man who had discarded me like an old shoe, humiliated me, and tried to ruin me financially. Now I was supposed to open my home and my life to care for him? My children promised they’d help cover expenses and pitch in with caregiving, but they all worked full-time. The reality was clear—most of the burden would land squarely on my shoulders. I told them the answer was no.
They called me cold, heartless, even bitter. I reminded them I wasn’t stopping them from helping him—they could rent a place together, arrange hospice care, or stay with him themselves. Days later, my ex had the audacity to contact me directly, asking me to “leave the past behind” for his last days. The irony wasn’t lost on me—he hadn’t gone to the younger women he’d chosen over me. I kept my boundaries. My peace, my home, and my self-respect are not up for negotiation—especially for a man who once made it clear I wasn’t wort
