She opened the front door and motioned for me to follow her.
Inside, she poured tea strong enough to melt metal and got straight to the point.
“I’m dying,” she announced casually.
I nearly choked.
“Oh, stop reacting like that,” she snapped. “I’m old, not immortal.”
Then she explained.
Her health was failing.
She needed help.
Groceries.
Medication.
Rides.
Repairs.
Company.
“And in return?” I asked carefully.
She watched me closely.
“When I’m gone, everything I own goes to you.”
Honestly, it sounded insane.
But I needed the money.
