In that moment, Donald understood. They had sold his apartment, kept the money, and left him with this abandoned shell.
He tried to adapt. There was no electricity, no running water, no furniture. He slept on an old cot with a blanket he’d found in a dusty box. Hunger and loneliness pressed on him like never before.
One morning, in desperation, he walked to the dump nearby, hoping to find something useful—a chair, a pot, anything.
As he sifted through broken furniture and torn bags, his hands froze. There, among the rubbish, were pieces of his old life: the watch Katherine had given him on their wedding day, a framed family photo, the doctor’s coat he once wore proudly, his beloved books.
