Tom and I fought with everything we had.
We spent our savings.
We borrowed money.
We traveled to
other cities searching for specialists.
We tried experimental treatments that offered only the smallest chance.
I kept telling myself that as long as there was a chance, we couldn’t give up.
But a year later, I sat beside Tom and held his hand as his breathing became weaker.
He looked at me one final time.
Then he was gone.
After the funeral, I sat in our living room surrounded by unpaid bills.
Emily played on the floor, too young to understand that her father wasn’t coming home.
I looked at my old work uniform.
Without Tom, I couldn’t afford daycare, rent, and the hospital bills that had buried us in debt.
I needed another job.
That’s when I found an advertisement for a housekeeping position at the estate of a wealthy older man named Richard.
