When Lucy came home in tears after a week of babysitting, I felt an anger I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Our smug neighbor, Mrs. Carpenter, had refused to pay Lucy, brushing it off as a “life lesson.” Determined to make things right, I devised a plan to ensure Mrs. Carpenter learned a lesson of her own.
Lucy stumbled through the front door, her face streaked with tears. The sight of her crying, something she rarely did, instantly set off alarms. My usually composed daughter looked utterly defeated, and my heart sank.
“Lucy?” I rushed over, placing my hands on her trembling shoulders. “What happened?”
At first, she couldn’t speak, just shook her head, wiping away her tears. I guided her to the couch, giving her time to gather herself. Finally, her voice came out in a shaky whisper. “Mom… she wouldn’t pay me.”
“Who wouldn’t pay you?” I asked, already sensing where this was going.
“Mrs. Carpenter,” Lucy’s voice cracked, fresh tears welling up. “She said it was a ‘life lesson’—that I should have gotten it in writing. And she didn’t pay me a dime.”