My daughter forgot to hang up the phone. I overheard her telling her husband

The phone call had barely ended when George Müller realized what he had just heard. His daughter’s voice, calm and practical, sliced through the silence of his small kitchen like a blade.

“He’s a burden. It’s time for a nursing home,” she had said, her tone clipped, efficient. “We can sell the house for eight hundred ninety thousand, easy. That’ll cover everything.”

She didn’t know he was still on the line.For a long moment, George sat frozen, the receiver still pressed to his ear. Outside, the California sun poured over the cul-de-sac, bathing the lawns in warm gold. He could hear the faint laughter of children, the whir of sprinklers — the same peaceful sounds he had loved for thirty years in this house. The same house his daughter now wanted to sell.