At 35, I married my wealthy 72-year-old boss so my daughter and I wouldn’t end up homeless. After he died, his lawyer looked at me and said, “He prepared this trap specifically for you… and he knew you would fall into it.”

I learned to eat less so Emily could eat normally.

Sometimes, after putting her to bed, I’d sit at the kitchen table surrounded by envelopes and calculate how long we could survive.

Then the landlord called.

“You’ve fallen behind.”

“I know.”

“When can you pay?”

“I’ll have it.”

“When?”

I didn’t have an answer.

He gave me thirty days.

Thirty days to find enough money to catch up.

Thirty days before my daughter and I could be homeless.

That’s when I saw the housekeeping advertisement.

It was for a wealthy man named Richard.

The estate was enormous.

The salary was more than I had ever earned.

I almost didn’t call.

Then I looked at Emily sleeping on the couch.

I picked up the phone.

---

Richard was waiting for me in his study when I arrived.

He was seventy-two.

Tall.

Well dressed.

Serious-looking.

But there was something unusual about his expression when he saw me.

He stared for a second too long.

Then he smiled.

“You’re Nora.”

“Yes.”

“And this must be Emily.”

Emily hid behind my coat.

Richard crouched down.

“Hello, Emily.”

She didn’t answer.

“That’s all right,” he said. “I wasn’t very talkative at her age either.”

I smiled.