My name is Eleanor Grace Whitmore, and I’m 68 years old. For nearly 50 years, I stood beside my husband, Richard, running our small apple farm in Pennsylvania. Our days were simple—filled with love, hard work, and family.
But everything changed three weeks ago when I buried him.
After the funeral, my son—my only child—offered to drive me home. Instead, he stopped on a remote road, looked at me coldly, and said, “This is where you get off.”
I was stunned. I didn’t ask why. I just got out.
It’s hard to understand how someone you raised with love can turn their back so completely. But I walked down that road with my head high, because even in heartbreak, I still carry the strength of everything I built—with Richard, and on my own.
Ask ChatGPT
