My 'arson' threat reaps 'reward'
It was a spring day in 1993. Everything was wrong in my world. My husband was in Shady Lane Nursing Home, having several seizures a day sometimes, often so severe it seemed he was not going to revive, so they called me and I would rush in.
I was in the process of selling the farm (cleaning a five-bedroom house out of 46 years worth of possessions), and finding an apartment to rent.
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