At first, Caroline seemed sweet. She smiled warmly, asked how I was doing, and once even brought me chamomile tea when I had a coughing fit. She had a soft, careful way of speaking that felt genuine.

When they decided to marry, I gave them my blessing. My son deserved happiness.

“Live somewhere else,” I told them more than once. “You two need your own space. Don’t worry about me — I’ll be fine.”

I even called my daughter, Julia, who lives out in Oregon, to see if she could help arrange part-time caregivers for me.

But Caroline waved the idea away.