When Nancy’s landlord demanded that she and her three daughters leave the rental property for a week, she thought things couldn’t get any worse. But an unexpected meeting with the landlord’s brother revealed a shocking betrayal.
Our house isn’t very big, but it’s ours. The floors creak with every step, and the paint in the kitchen has peeled so badly I’ve started calling it ‘abstract art.’
Still, it’s home. My daughters, Lily, Emma and Sophie, create that feeling with their laughter and the little things that remind me why I work so hard.
I’ve always thought about money. My job as a waitress barely covered our rent and bills. There was no airbag or backup plan. If something went wrong, I didn’t know what we would do.
The phone rang the next day when I was hanging laundry to dry.
‘Hello?’ I answered, jamming the phone between my ear and shoulder.
‘Nancy, it’s Peterson.’
His voice made my stomach clench. ‘Oh, hello, Mr Peterson. Is everything okay?’
‘I need you out of the house for a week,’ he said as casually as if he was asking me to water his plants.
‘What?’ I froze, a pair of Sophie’s socks still in my hands.
‘My brother’s coming into town and he needs a place to stay. I told him he could use your house.’
I thought I must have misheard. ‘Wait a minute, it’s my house. We have a lease!’
‘Don’t start with the rental nonsense,’ he snapped back. ‘Remember how late you were with the rent last month? I could have kicked you out then, but I didn’t. You owe me.’
I gripped the phone tighter. ‘I was one day late,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘My daughter was sick. I explained to you…’
‘Never mind,’ he interrupted. ‘You have until Friday to leave. Leave, or you may not come back at all.’
‘Mr Peterson, please,’ I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. ‘I have nowhere else to go.’
‘Not my problem,’ he said coldly, and the connection went dead.
I sat on the couch, staring at the phone in my hand. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
‘Mum, what’s wrong?’ Lily, my eldest, asked from the doorstep, her eyes full of worry.
I forced myself to smile. ‘Nothing, sweetie. Go play with your sisters.’
But it wasn’t nothing. I had no savings, no family nearby, and no way to fight back. If I confronted Peterson, he would find an excuse to evict us permanently.
By Thursday evening, I had packed what little we could carry into several bags. The girls were full of questions, but I didn’t know how to explain to them what was going on.
‘We’re going on an adventure,’ I told them, trying to sound cheerful.
‘Is it far?’ asked Sophie, clutching Mr Floppy to her chest.
‘Not very far,’ I replied, avoiding her gaze.
The dormitory was worse than I expected. The room was tiny, barely enough room for the four of us, and the walls were so thin we could hear every cough, every creak, every loud voice from the other side.
‘Mummy, it’s noisy in here,’ Emma said, covering her ears with her hands.
‘I know, sweetie,’ I replied softly, stroking her hair.
Lily tried to distract her sisters by playing I Spy, but it didn’t help for long. Sophie’s little face crinkled and tears ran down her cheeks.
‘Where’s Mr Floppy?’ – She cried, breaking her voice.
My stomach cramped. In my haste, I’d forgotten about her rabbit.
‘He’s still at home,’ I said, clutching my throat.
‘I can’t sleep without him!’ Sophie sobbed, clutching at my arm.
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her against me, whispering that everything would be okay. But I knew it wouldn’t.
That night, as Sophie cried in her sleep, I stared at the cracked ceiling, feeling utterly helpless.
By the fourth night, Sophie’s crying hadn’t stopped. Each sob was like a knife to the heart.
‘Please, Mum,’ she whispered, her voice sounding as if in a void. ‘I want Mr Floppy.’
I hugged her tightly, rocking her back and forth.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
‘I’ll catch him,’ I whispered, more to myself than to her.
I didn’t know how, but I had to try.
I parked on the next street over, and my heart raced as I stared at the house. What if they wouldn’t let me in? What if Mr Peterson was there? But Sophie’s tear-stained face wouldn’t leave my mind.
I took a deep breath and walked to the door, Sophie’s desperate ‘please’ sounding in my ears. My knuckles hit the wood and I held my breath.
The door opened, and a man I’d never seen before stood before me. He was tall, with a kind face and sharp green eyes.
‘What can I do for you?’ – He asked with a puzzled look.
‘Hi,’ I said with a stammer. ‘Sorry to bother you, but I’m a tenant here. My daughter left her stuffed bunny in the house, and I was hoping I could pick it up.’
He winked at me. ‘Wait. You live here?’
‘Yes,’ I said, feeling a lump forming in my throat. ‘But Mr Peterson told us we have to leave for a week because you’re staying here.’
He furrowed his eyebrows. ‘What? My brother said the flat is empty and ready for me to move in for a while.’
I couldn’t hold back the words tearing out. ‘It’s not empty. It’s my home. My kids and I are cramped in a hostel on the other side of town. My youngest can’t sleep because she doesn’t have her bunny.’
His face darkened, and for a second I thought he was angry with me. But instead he muttered: ‘That bitch…’ He stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice softer. ‘I had no idea. Come on in and we’ll find the rabbit.’
He stepped aside, and I hesitated before entering. The familiar smell of home wafted over me, and tears glistened in my eyes that I didn’t want to let out. Jack – he introduced himself as Jack – helped me search Sophie’s room, which looked untouched.
‘Here he is,’ Jack said, pulling out Mr Floppy from under the bed.
I cradled the rabbit against me, imagining Sophie’s joy. ‘Thank you,’ I said, and my voice shook.
‘Tell me everything,’ Jack said, sitting down on the edge of Sophie’s bed. ‘What exactly did my brother tell you?’
I hesitated, but told him everything: the phone call, the threats, the hostel. He listened in silence, his jaw clenched with each word.
When I finished, he stood up and pulled out his phone. ‘This isn’t right,’ he said.
‘Wait, what are you doing?’
‘Fixing it,’ he said and dialled a number.
The ensuing conversation was heated, though I could only hear his side of it.
‘You kicked a single mum with kids out of the house? For me?’ Jack’s voice was harsh. ‘No, you can’t get away with that. Fix it now, or I will.’
He hung up the phone and turned to me. ‘Pack your things at the hostel. You’ll be back tonight.’
I blinked, not sure I’d understood him correctly. ‘And you?’
‘I’ll find somewhere to stay,’ he said firmly. ‘I can’t stay here after what my brother did. And he’ll pay your rent for the next six months.’
In the evening Jack helped us back to the house. Sophie glowed when she saw Mr Floppy, her little hands clutching the rabbit like a treasure.
‘Thank you,’ I said to Jack as we unpacked. ‘You didn’t have to do all that.’
‘I couldn’t let you stay there another night,’ he replied simply.
Over the next few weeks, Jack continued to show up. He fixed a leaky tap in the kitchen. One evening he brought groceries.
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ I said, feeling overwhelmed.
‘That’s okay,’ he replied, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I like helping.’
The girls adored him. Lily asked him for advice on her science project. Emma dragged him into board games. Even Sophie warmed to him, offering Mr Floppy a ‘hug’ for Jack joining their tea party.
Behind the kind gestures, I began to understand the man more. He was cheerful, patient and genuinely cared for my children. Eventually our dinners together grew into a romance.
One evening a few months later, as we sat on the porch after the girls had gone to bed, Jack spoke quietly.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, looking out into the yard.
‘About what?’
‘I don’t want you and the girls to ever feel that way again. No one should be afraid of losing their home overnight.’
His words hung in the air.
‘I want to help you find something permanent,’ he continued. ‘Will you marry me?’
I was stunned. ‘Jack…I don’t know what to say. Yes!’
A month later we moved into the beautiful little house Jack had found for us. Lily had her own room. Emma had painted it pink. Sophie ran to hers, holding Mr Floppy like a shield.
When I was tucking Sophie in for the night, she whispered: ‘Mummy, I love our new house.’
‘Me too, baby,’ I said, kissing her forehead.
That night Jack stayed for dinner and helped me set the table. As the girls chatted, I looked at him and realised: he wasn’t just our hero. He was family.
