My son is 22, and his girlfriend just moved in with us. I tried to be fair. But bills were rising, and I felt like a hotel manager. I told him, “If she’s going to live here, she has to pay.” He looked at me strangely, and I froze when he quietly said, “Mom, didn’t she tell you that she has nowhere else to go?”
I stood there, dish towel in hand, water dripping from a pan I was drying.
My heart dropped.
“No, she didn’t,” I replied, a little embarrassed now by how I’d just snapped.
He nodded slowly and walked away. No drama, no yelling. Just quiet.
I sat down on the edge of the couch, my mind racing. I had noticed she always looked grateful for the smallest things—like leftovers, or a warm blanket on the couch. She never complained. But I hadn’t really thought much of it. I just assumed she was being polite.
That night, I knocked on their door. She opened it, eyes wide like she was expecting bad news. I asked if we could talk. She nodded.
We sat at the kitchen table, and I asked her gently, “Is it true what my son said? That you have nowhere else to go?” She nodded, tears welling up. In that moment, I realized that kindness sometimes means opening your home — and your heart — to someone who truly needs it, even when it feels inconvenient.