My son planned to place me in a nursing home without my consent. After a quiet 2 a.m. call confirmed it, I legally sold the house in my name and moved out. When they returned, there was no family home to control—and I wasn’t there to be managed—only the outcomes of their own decisions. I am sixty-eight years old, in a brownstone in Chicago, I jolted awake because of a whisper slipping out from the half-closed bedroom door. “Give her a few days… then we’ll bring it up again.” Another voice agreed