I stepped in. I paid the 40,000 dollar down payment on their house on Elm Street.
To protect my money, the deed was put in my name. I let them live there rent-free. They only had to pay the property taxes and insurance, which was about 250 dollars a month.
I did that so they could build their savings. I did that because I loved them.
Vanessa immediately painted the walls gray, bought expensive light fixtures, and started posting about their dream home. She never offered to pay a dollar toward the principal. She acted like she had earned the place.
And now, they were threatening to keep my grandchildren away unless I spent 15,000 dollars to remodel my home.
The next morning, I drove to their house on Elm Street. I wanted to bring them fresh tomatoes from my garden and a batch of blueberry muffins.
The front door was unlocked. I walked in.
I set the basket on the kitchen island.
And that was when I saw the paperwork.
It was a listing agreement from a real estate office. They were listing the Elm Street house for sale for 320,000 dollars.
Next to it was Vanessa’s yellow legal pad.
In Vanessa’s neat, looping handwriting, she had written a checklist:
“Once Margaret pays for the safety updates, list. Target move-in July 1st. Basement room is dry enough for her. She won’t need the extra bedrooms. We’ll save 2,000 dollars a month on mortgage. Free babysitting.”
My vision went white at the edges. My heart was pounding in my chest.
They were planning to sell the house I owned.
They were planning to pocket the profit.
They were planning to move into my house, push me into the basement, and use me as a free nanny.
And they wanted me to pay 15,000 dollars to renovate my house for them first.
I also saw a contractor’s estimate for my own house. Vanessa had already contacted painters to repaint my master bedroom. The estimate labeled it: “Playroom/Leo’s room.”
They were planning to take my master bedroom.
My blood ran cold.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t call them. I took my tomatoes, folded the paper, and walked out quietly.
