My mom is 73.
She wakes up at 6 a.m. every day, irons her clothes as if she were still going to work, and keeps a small notebook where she writes down every expense — groceries, prescriptions, and even bus fare.
She doesn’t complain. She never has.
So when our neighbor, Claire, asked if my mom could watch her 3-year-old daughter a few afternoons a week, my mom hesitated.
“I don’t need much,” she said. “Just something fair.”
Claire agreed to pay her $80 a day. Cash. No paperwork. No drama.
The first week went smoothly.
My mom arrived early. Brought snacks from her own kitchen. Cleaned up toys before she left. On Friday, Claire paid her in full.
The second week, Claire smiled and said, “I’ll get you next week. My paycheck is late.”
My mom nodded. She trusted her.
The third week, it was the same thing. “Next week. I promise.”
By the fourth week, my mom still hadn’t seen a single dollar.
She finally brought it up again — quietly, politely, almost apologetically.
Claire sighed like she was the one being inconvenienced.
“Well,” she said, “this has actually been a good learning experience for you.”
My mom blinked. “A learning experience?”
“At your age,” Claire continued, “you really shouldn’t be taking jobs without contracts. That’s just common sense.”
Then she added, smiling, “Besides, it’s not like you had anything better to do.”
My mom didn’t argue.
She came home that evening, sat at the kitchen table, and opened her little notebook. She crossed out four weeks of expected pay.
Then she closed it and said, softly, “I should have planned better.”
That’s when I felt something cold settle in my chest.
Claire thought she was clever.
She thought an old woman wouldn’t push back.
She thought being polite meant being weak.
She was wrong.
Because the first thing I did that evening was walk into our garage.
