Margaret was 83, fiercely independent, and fed up with her family circling her like vultures. So, when she vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a cryptic note, her children panicked. But they never expected her bold final move—one that would leave them stunned.
I’m Dorothy, 80 years old, and Margaret was my best friend for decades. Now, her story needs to be told.
She was sharp, sassy, and lived modestly but wisely in a cozy bungalow. After her husband, Tom, passed away, Margaret rented out their colonial home to cover bills. “A lady’s gotta live,” she’d say with a wink. Never one to rely on anyone, she taught me, “Independence is a woman’s best friend. Next to coffee, of course.”
As Margaret’s health declined, her children started visiting more, but I soon saw their true motives—they weren’t helping; they were circling.
Lisa, always impeccably dressed, eyed the colonial home. “Such a shame it sits empty,” she’d sigh. David, the financial expert, suggested, “Mom, selling the house could really help the family.”
Margaret hated it. “I’ll decide when I’m ready,” she’d snap. “And don’t act like I’m about to kick the bucket.”
One afternoon, after overhearing Lisa and David argue over the house, Margaret had enough. “You’d think I was six feet under with the way you’re fighting over my stuff!” she snapped.
Later, over coffee, she said, “They’re shameless, Dorothy.”
A week later, Margaret was gone. No warning, just a note:
“Don’t worry about me. I’m safe. Keep an eye on the vultures for me. I’ll be back when I’m ready. Love, Margaret.”
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