My name is Margaret, and I’m 62 years old. Since my husband’s death, I’ve spent almost eight years living entirely for my children and grandchildren.
Every morning, I woke up at six, prepared breakfast for my grandchildren, went grocery shopping, cleaned my daughter’s house, and returned to my empty apartment in the evening.
My children loved me, but sometimes I felt that I had become more of a free babysitter and housekeeper than a mother to them.
I’m a very overweight woman. I weigh around 330 pounds, and in recent years, I’d even become ashamed to wear a swimsuit.
But one day, I stood in front of the mirror and decided that I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life fulfilling everyone else’s wishes.
I booked a seven-day vacation at a seaside resort.
My daughter, Sarah, was furious.
“Mom, do you have any idea how dangerous it is to travel alone at your age?”
