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Even though my two sons and their families all lived in town, I didn’t see them much, mostly just on special occasions. I was pretty lonely. Having a routine helped me feel better and less isolated. Every Monday I would play bridge. Tuesdays were stretch and strength exercises. And Wednesdays, rain or shine, I would always go for groceries. My walker would double as a grocery cart. I’d just buy a few things, like milk, bread and fresh produce, because a service delivered bigger items like dry goods and staples. The weekly trip to the market was really just an excuse to get out of the house. I’d seen him there before and I liked his kind face and a gentle manner. When he offered to walk me home and help with the groceries, I didn’t see any harm in it. The walk home was pleasant enough, he walked slowly so I could keep up, and he was easy to talk to. He held my walker while I got out the key to the door. He offered to help unload the groceries and put them away. I even offered him a cup of tea. When I turned to fill the kettle he grabbed me from behind, dragged me to the bedroom and sexually assaulted me. I fought back as well as I could – and I had the bruises to show for it. The bruises were nothing compared to how embarrassed and humiliated I felt. How could I have been so stupid? A stupid, lonely old woman – that’s what I was. I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. I should have known better. It wasn’t until two months later when my granddaughter was telling me about an essay she was writing for school on sexual assault that I finally broke down and told her what happened. My granddaughter helped me contact an agency that offered counseling and support. They said it wasn’t too late to report to police, and helped me get special medical attention. They also started to help me understand that I wasn’t to blame for what happened.