I paid for this home's renovations. Every inch. I transfer five thousand a month for the mortgage.
They wanted me to pay rent—in my own house?
Five thousand a day. More than a presidential suite at a five-star hotel.
Diana scoffed at my silence. "What's that look? Think we're asking too much?" She tapped a manicured nail against the table. "Water, electricity, gas, property fees, heating—not to mention your showers and phone charging. Five thousand is the family discount. You should pay and be grateful."
Grateful.
My mind flashed to two years ago. Bitter winter. Diana's ectopic pregnancy ruptured. Massive internal bleeding. She collapsed, unconscious.
Raymond was away on business. Mom panicked, useless, sobbing into the phone.
I dropped everything. Carried Diana to my car. Raced to the hospital.
I saved her life.
When they demanded a deposit for emergency surgery, I maxed out my credit card and borrowed from every colleague I knew.
For days afterward, I never left her bedside. Fed her. Washed her. Watched over her.
I remembered how she'd gripped my hand, pale and tearful. "Sarah, you gave me my life back. I'll remember this kindness forever. I'll treat you doubly well."
Doubly well.