“We’ll fight together,” he said.
And we did.
Every scan terrified me. Every appointment made my stomach twist. Even a ringing phone could make my heart race.
At night, when Tom finally slept, I buried my face in the pillow so he wouldn’t hear me cry.
By morning, I forced myself to keep going.
We emptied our savings and borrowed money. We traveled to specialists in other cities, tried different medications, and eventually agreed to an experimental treatment that offered only a tiny chance.
I held onto that chance because it was all we had.
A year after the diagnosis, I sat beside Tom and held his hand as his breathing slowed.
He gave me one last weak smile.
Then he was gone.
After the funeral, I sat in our living room dressed in black, staring at stacks of bills covering the table.
Emily played near my feet, still too young to fully understand that her father was never coming home.
Her toy kitten lay beside her.
Looking at it reminded me of what someone had once called me.
A stray.
Without Tom’s income, I couldn’t afford daycare, our apartment, and the medical debt at the same time.
I needed a better job.
While searching through listings, I found an opening for a housekeeper at the estate of a wealthy elderly man named Richard.
I had seen his home once on the outskirts of town.
It was enormous.
I wondered why someone living in a place that large needed only one housekeeper, but I wasn’t in a position to question the opportunity.
A few days later, I arrived for the interview with Emily beside me.
Richard was waiting in his study.
His tailored suit fit perfectly, and even his shoes probably cost more than several of my paychecks.
“Good evening,” he said, smiling. “You’re Nora, and who is this young miss?”
