Then came the favors. Make breakfast. Pack Noah’s lunch. Walk the dog.
Do the laundry. Iron Grant’s shirts. Cook dinner. Pick up groceries. Watch my grandson after school.
Then came the bills. First electricity. Then internet. Then subscriptions.
Then more and more of their weekly groceries. Every month, a little more of my pension disappeared into a household that technically wasn’t even mine.
And every time I hesitated, I heard the same reminder. “You live with us.”
So I stayed quiet. Until that afternoon at the supermarket. Melissa had invited executives from Grant’s company over for an expensive dinner party.
She loaded the carts with steaks, seafood, imported cheese, champagne, desserts, and everything else she thought would make them look wealthy.
I had picked out oatmeal, apples, and tea. When the cashier announced the total, I quietly told Melissa I couldn’t pay because my prescriptions were due the next morning.
She rolled her eyes. Then Grant leaned toward me and said, “You live in our house rent-free.
The least you can do is contribute.” Something inside me finally shifted.
I opened my wallet. Melissa smiled because she thought I was reaching for my card.
Instead, I slipped the card back inside. Then I snapped the wallet shut.
“No.” Melissa stared at me. “What did you say?” “I said I’m not paying.”
