I started a new job after my son told me I should move out—that his house “no longer had room” for his mother. I took the night shift as a cook at a tiny diner. Every day, I shared a few dollars with a frail old woman on the corner. Then one evening, she clasped my hand, called me “my child,” and promised that tomorrow she would reveal a secret that could change my entire life. That line about there being “no room for his mother” was the last thing my son said before he pushed my suitcase toward