Chapter 1: The Rent Ultimatum

I came to my daughter’s house in Maple Heights to help with her new baby, but then my son-in-law hit me with something I never saw coming: he decided I should start paying rent.

The very first time I stepped into their freshly painted foyer—still smelling faintly like someone had gone overboard with Lemon Pledge—I never in a million years thought I’d have a conversation like this. Maple Heights is the kind of Cleveland suburb where people still drop off tuna noodle casseroles when there’s a new baby, and the mailman, Chuck, honks and waves as he drives by. I always figured family meant helping each other out, no strings attached, just like the world I grew up in.

“Mom, starting next month, you’re going to have to start paying us rent.”

Ethan didn’t even bother to look up from his iPad. He said it so flatly, like he was reciting a list of groceries. The matter-of-factness in his voice made me wonder for a split second if I’d missed some big announcement about how families are supposed to work these days.

“This place has four bedrooms, two living rooms, a nice remodel, and everything you need. Rent should be at least $2,000 a month, but we’ll only charge you half, plus a family discount. So you’ll just need to pay $800 a month.”

He rattled off the numbers like he was closing a deal at the office, not talking to his mother-in-law. I glanced around the bright, open kitchen, trying to remember if my own parents had ever asked me to chip in for so much as a carton of milk when I stayed over. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“The last three months were your trial period—no rent. But starting next month, we’ll start charging you rent. You can just pay next month’s rent now.”

For a second, I thought maybe my ears were playing tricks on me. Had I actually heard that right? Could anyone really be this serious?

I even checked my hearing aid batteries, half expecting them to be dead. Nope—they were working just fine. The world really had turned upside down.

I was so shocked, I couldn’t even keep my fork steady.

The fork slipped from my hand and clattered onto my plate. A glob of oatmeal splattered onto the placemat with a dull, sticky thud. Ethan didn’t even blink.

Trial period? Pay rent? What is this?

It felt like I’d wandered into an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, the kind where the mother-in-law always gets the short end of the stick. My hands trembled as I set the fork down again, trying to wrap my head around it.

So after all the help I’d given them with the baby, I was supposed to be grateful he’d waived three months’ rent and was now officially letting me stay? Who dreams this stuff up? Are they that obsessed with money?

I glanced at the fridge, still plastered with baby photos and Savannah’s old report cards from Garfield Middle. What am I, just another tenant?

Was there a hidden camera somewhere, like I was about to be pranked on Candid Camera or Punk’d, just waiting for my reaction?

Ethan Price looked at me like this was business as usual, just waiting for me to whip out my checkbook.

His blue eyes were calm, almost bored—like he was just waiting for me to sign a lease. For a second, I half expected him to slide a contract across the table and ask for my signature.

I ignored him and turned to my daughter, Savannah, who’d been quietly sitting off to the side.

Savannah was fiddling with her coffee mug, her gaze flicking between me and Ethan, obviously uncomfortable. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she looked just as exhausted as I felt.

“Is this what you think, too?”

Savannah let out a few awkward laughs. “Ethan spent seven or eight years in grad school overseas, Mom. He’s used to thinking this way. Just go along with it.”

She tried to laugh it off, but I could hear the strain in her voice, like she was barely holding it together. It was that kind of laugh you use when you’re hoping nobody will notice you’re about to lose it.

Go along with it? Just because he studied abroad, now he’s forgotten how he was raised?

I remembered when Ethan was just the quiet guy Savannah brought home for Thanksgiving, so nervous he nearly dropped the turkey. Now he sounded like he’d just binge-watched Shark Tank and thought every family conversation needed a spreadsheet.

Fine. If he wants to keep things so strictly balanced, then I can play that game too.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and called up the same stubbornness that got me through raising two kids on a teacher’s salary.

“In that case, starting next month, you’ll need to pay me for being your nanny. Hiring a full-time nanny would run you at least $1,500 a month. I’ll give you a family discount—20% off—so you just owe me $1,200 a month. Subtracting the $800 for rent, you still owe me $400 a month. The last three months were your trial period—no charge. But for next month, you can pay me the $400 now.”

I delivered my counteroffer with a straight face, channeling every negotiation I’d ever had with stubborn school administrators. If they wanted to play hardball, I could play, too.

But Ethan just said, “Not so fast. I still missed something.”

His lips curled into a tight little smile. I braced myself for another round of math.

He started rattling off all the little expenses—three meals a day, household supplies, water, electricity, gas, even the occasional outing. He started itemizing everything, right down to the cost of a roll of toilet paper. My head spun as he talked, like I was being nickel-and-dimed at a hotel instead of being treated like his mother-in-law. I needed a second just to breathe.

After all his calculations, he still wanted to charge me $600 a month.

So after all that, I still owe him $200 a month.

Ethan took out his phone and handed it to me. “Just Venmo me—no need for cash.”

He waved his phone like a waiter dropping off the check, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. I stared down at the Venmo app, the little blue and white icon almost mocking me.

I looked at the phone, then at Ethan, then at Savannah. I set my fork down. I stood up.