I Sold It All at 78 for One Last Chance at Love—But Fate Intervened
At 78, I gave up everything I had—my apartment, my old pickup truck, even my cherished collection of vinyl records. Elizabeth’s letter arrived without warning, tucked between bills and flyers, as if it didn’t realize how much power it held. “I’ve been thinking of you.” That’s all it said. I read it three times before ...