My neighbour thought my 74-year-old mother was just a sweet woman with a lot of free time. But when she tried to take advantage of her kindness, I decided to intervene and show that behind her calm exterior lay strength and dignity.
My mother, Lydia, gets up at six o’clock every morning. She does everything the same way she did when she worked at the city library: she carefully applies cream to her face, irons her blouse even if she’s not going anywhere, and makes coffee in the old coffee maker she’s never replaced. Every morning she sits down at the table, opens her black notebook and writes down every penny she spends. Three dollars for yoghurt. Fifty cents for a packet of biscuits.
She never complains. And perhaps that is why people think they can take advantage of her.
Across the street lives her neighbour Laura. She is 38 years old and works at an advertising agency that constantly sends her to ‘client lunches’ and ‘important meetings,’ which for some strange reason always take place in the afternoon. Laura has a daughter, Sophia, who is three years old and seems to either be screaming, sleeping, or wreaking havoc in the house.
One morning, Laura came up to me while I was watering the flowers on the porch. She was holding Sophia, who was covered in berry juice, chewing on a toy, and had hair sticking out in all directions.
‘Hi,’ Laura said. ‘I need a little help. Do you think your mum could look after Sophia a few days a week?’
I raised my eyebrows.
‘Look after her?’ I asked.
‘Yes, just for a few hours. Sofia’s nursery is short-staffed, it’s a terrible situation,’ she waved her hand as if it were nothing.
That evening, I brought up the subject at dinner.
‘Mum, Laura asked if you’d like to work as a nanny a few days a week,’ I said.
Mum paused, thought for a moment, took a sip of tea and replied calmly:
‘I don’t need much. Just be honest.’
The next day, Laura came in with a smile and her hair neatly styled and said:
‘Ninety dollars a day. No taxes, no paperwork.’
Mum agreed. She wrote in her notebook: ‘Laura, nanny’ and the amount. She bought pencils, fruit and small toys for Sofia to play with.
The first week went smoothly. Mum came early, brought food from home, and wrote me messages: ‘Today we’re drawing,’ ‘Sofia ate everything.’ After playing, she cleaned up the toys herself.
But in the second week, Laura said:
‘The payment is delayed. I’ll pay everything next week.’
Mum nodded silently. She trusted her.
Third week. Same thing.
‘I promise, next week,’ said Laura, without even apologising.
The fourth week. Mum decided to remind her.
‘Laura, I just wanted to ask about the payment,’ she said calmly.
Laura rolled her eyes and sighed, as if the request itself was a burden to her.
‘Consider it a learning experience,’ she muttered.
Mum wrote down all the weeks she hadn’t received money in her notebook and said quietly:
‘I should have planned better.’
It hurt me. My mother had worked her whole life, raised three children, paid off her mortgage, and even volunteered at the library on Saturdays — and someone decided to take advantage of her kindness.
I decided to take action.
I got in my car, drove to Laura’s house, and rang the doorbell.
‘You’re not going to pay my mum for her work, are you?’ I said bluntly.
Laura pretended not to understand.
I contacted my daughter Emily and her friend Sophia, who runs a popular YouTube channel featuring real people’s stories. I showed them the evidence: photos and messages from my mum about her work with Sophia.
At first, my mum was hesitant, but she agreed to tell her story on camera. She sat down, opened her notebook and calmly and confidently explained:
‘I trusted her. I thought we had an agreement. Now I realise I was wrong.’
The video was published and went viral. In two days, it was viewed by over 100,000 people. Laura came to our house with an envelope in her hands, crying:
“I didn’t think it would spread like this! It’s ruining my reputation!
Mum calmly took the envelope.
‘I only take what I’ve earned,’ she said.
Laura was speechless.
A few days later, Mum returned to her notes and stuck a piece of paper in her notebook with the words: ‘FULL PAYMENT’.
‘Is this a trophy?’ I asked.
‘No,’ Mum smiled. ‘Just a reminder. A reminder that I’m not invisible.’
And that was the most important reward: respect — something that cannot be bought or stolen.
