29 Dec 2025
Writing. Her Voices. I found a tracker under my car. @HER.VOICES
David Mitchell is what my generation would call easy on the eyes.
37 years old, works in financial planning, drives a BMS that's always spotless, and has the kind of smile that waitresses give him extra bread rolls.
Emma met him at some charity gala where rich people pay $500 to eat rubber chicken and feel good about themselves. She was smitten from day one. She's never been smitten by anything that wasn't bad for her. My only child has always had a talent for choosing men the way some people choose lottery numbers with hope, enthusiasm, and absolutely no logic whatsoever.
There was Marcus the musician who turned out to be married. Brett, the business man who turned out to be broke and Kevin the entrepreneur who turned out to be selling essential oils to his grandmother's bridge club.
So when Emma walked through my door three and a half years ago with David in tow, I was prepared for the worst. But David seemed different. He asked thoughtful questions, remembered details from previous conversations and actually helped clear the table without being asked. He brought me flowers on Mother's Day , not the gas station variety, but actual arrangements from a real florists.
He listened when I talked about Richard''s death and never once suggested that I should start dating again or shouldn't waste my golden years alone.
Most importantly, he made Emma happy Really genuinuely happy, not the manic kind of happy she displayed with the others. She glowed when she talked about him. And for the first time in years, our Sunday dinners included someone who actually wanted to be there.
So when David suggested last Friday that my car needed maintenance before my weekend business trip to Portland, I didn''t question it. I should have. But grief and loneliness have a way of making you grateful for any sign that someone cares about your safety. Even if that someone has only been family for 3 year sand has never shown any previous interest in automotive maintenance. "Clara,"he''d said using that concerned son-in-law voice that I was still getting used to. "When's the last time you had the oil changed in that Lexus? "You're driving 3 hours each way to Portland and I'd hate for something to happen to you on tghe road.""










