I thought I was just a caregiver for Mrs. Blackwood, a stern and mysterious woman, until her plan to change her will in my favor, excluding her children, dragged me into a storm of family secrets.
I was young, unemployed, and full of doubts. I had a degree in nursing, but no real prospects.
A college education in the city seemed like a cruel joke.
Weeks of failed interviews had left me restless, staring at an uncertain future.
Until that moment, when a small ad in the paper caught my eye:
“Caregiver wanted for elderly lady who cannot walk. Work with accommodation.”
I felt that this might be my chance. I decided to show up for the interview.
When I reached the large, slightly run-down house, a young man, perhaps twenty, opened the door.
“You’re here for the caregiver interview, aren’t you?” he said with a kind smile. “My name is Edward.”
Before I could respond, a young woman appeared.
“And I’m Emily. Grandma’s waiting for you,” she added in a friendly but distant tone, as if she just wanted to get this matter over with quickly.
They were kind enough to let me in, but it was clear they were more obligated to be polite than actually interested in my presence.
“Grandma’s upstairs,” Edward said, gesturing toward the stairs. “She’ll take care of you now.”
They disappeared down the hall, leaving me with the distinct feeling that they seemed more like roommates than loving grandchildren.
Mrs. Blackwood greeted me with a confident smile. She was in bed, but everything about her exuded control and authority.
Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her nails painted, and her laugh was surprisingly loud.
“Ah, you must be Mia,” she said, her voice warm and firm. “Come in, dear. Sit down.”
I hesitated for a moment. She wasn’t the frail old lady I was expecting at all.
“Don’t just sit there, sit down,” she joked, patting the edge of the bed. “Sit down! Have a donut. No one should face the world on an empty stomach.”
“Thank you,” I said, carefully taking a donut from the plate next to her bed.
Her eyes sparkled as she looked at me, as if she already knew my entire story.
“So tell me,” she began, leaning back against the pillows, “why do you want this job?”
“I need it. And I think I can help,” I said, trying not to say too much.
She nodded. “Honestness. A rare commodity these days. Well, Mia, welcome aboard.”
Thus began my life in Mrs. Blackwood’s house.
The first few days passed uneventfully. I followed her routine, listened to her endless stories, and thought maybe it would be simple. But then the weird stuff started.
One morning, a book had been moved from the shelf beside her bed.
“Did you read this book last night, Mrs. Blackwood?” I asked, holding it in my hand.
“I don’t walk in my sleep, dear,” she said with a faint smile.
Then there were the curtains. I distinctly remembered leaving them open, yet they were drawn. And the flowers… they had been freshly watered, though I hadn’t touched them.
“Do your grandchildren come to say goodnight?” I asked one morning, trying to sound casual.
“Oh no,” she said, laughing softly. “Edward and Emily have lived here since their parents died, but they rarely bother with me in the evenings.”
“But… someone’s moving things,” I insisted.
“They’ll come… when they read the will,” she added, ignoring my words.
The words hung in the air, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit together. Something wasn’t right, and I had a feeling that Mrs. Blackwood was hiding something from everyone, including her grandchildren.
Every day in the Blackwood house brought new mysteries.
I decided to make a few changes to her routine, not only to make her life better, but also to bring some normalcy back to the house.
Instead of letting her eat alone in her room, I began setting the table in the living room.
“There’s something special about a set table,” I said, arranging the silverware. “It makes you feel more… alive, don’t you think?”
Mrs. Blackwood raised an eyebrow, but a small smile appeared on her lips.
“You’re full of ideas, aren’t you, Mia?”