My son-in-law slid a paper across the kitchen table. Circled twice was one number: $800. “That covers rent, utilities, groceries, and four days a week with the kids,” my daughter, Michelle, explained. “You’d be earning your keep, Mom.” At sixty-seven, I lived on $1,640 a month in Social Security after losing my husband, Dale, and leaving our farmhouse of thirty-one years.
Her offer meant paying nearly half my income while becoming a full-time babysitter. I thanked her and asked for time to think. Instead, I visited the local feed store, where Mr. Brandt rented a small house for $550 monthly. That afternoon, I signed the lease and received keys to a home I had chosen myself.
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