.William always tested our new products on our neighbors during our dinners. “Our friends will be honest about it, Maureen,” he always said, his hands usually rubbing the spice into the meat. Eventually, I started packing things away. I donated some of William’s clothes and gave away other unnecessary items that wouldn’t make the move with me. The more I packed, the heavier my heart grew.I’d miss everything about my life here. But the consolation prize was my grandchildren. “Mom, I found the perfect house,” Mark said. “I’ve viewed it, and I think you’ll love it.”The next thing I knew, I was packing up my life and heading to California for a new adventure. A few weeks into my new neighborhood, California presented a challenge I had not anticipated. Having sold our restaurant a long time ago, I had plenty of free time. Mark handled all the finances, so all I wanted to do was knit away on my new porch.I knew I didn’t fit into the neighborhood. It was vibrant with young families — the children running across the street to each other’s homes, ice cream in hand. And while these families were incredibly friendly to each other, they seemed to cast me aside — the elderly widow.My attempts at conversation were often met with cold shoulders and suspicious glances, a reaction that bewildered me. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. Was it my clothing? I wondered. I preferred to dress simply, in comfortable clothes. There was no need for fancy attire. I watched everyone glance at my house from the sidewalk.After a few weeks, the coldness of my neighbors soon turned to outright hostility. Snide remarks and laughter shadowed my every step — a complete contrast to my old neighborhood. One evening, while I sat in my home watching television and eating a slice of cake, I heard shuffling outside. I watched as a few rowdy teenagers vandalized my garden — my daily pride and joy.My flowers were left uprooted, and trash was thrown all over my lawn. “Would your parents be proud of you? Do you think they’d be proud of your behavior? Is this how you treat your elders?” I shouted through the window.Desperate and alone, I went to bed longing for William’s presence. The next morning, I called Mark over. He was furious when he saw the aftermath of the boys’ nighttime activities. “Mom, we have to do something about this,” he said, slamming his fist onto the table. I made him a sandwich while he continued to fume.”I can’t believe this. How can they treat anyone like this? Let alone you?” I sighed. “I thought moving here would bring me closer to the family, but this is just loneliness in a different guise, Mark. Do you think this was a mistake?” I asked.Mark stood abruptly. “I’ll talk to them, Mom! This cannot go on,” he exclaimed. But I raised a hand, stopping hi