I answered a flyer offering $400 a week to be an old woman’s granddaughter. What began as a strange job became the closest thing to family I’d ever known. Then Marianne died. Her nephew claimed she’d left me nothing, but an old sewing box proved him wrong.

I almost walked past the flyer taped to the pharmacy wall until I noticed the money.

Wanted: a granddaughter for Sundays.

$400 per visit. No questions.

I was 27, raised in the system, with no friends or family. Four hundred dollars was more than half of what I earned in two weeks.

So I called.

A thin voice answered on the fourth ring.

“You’re looking for a granddaughter?” I said.

“Sunday at two. Wear something soft. The address is on the flyer.”

That was all.

That Sunday, an 84-year-old woman opened the door, one hand against the wall for balance. Her silver hair was pinned with a comb.