I almost drove away when I saw the neglected house. Inside, everything was warm, the two little boys were adorable—and their father never left. Instead, he watched me all day, asked deeply personal questions, and by evening admitted I’d never been hired to babysit at all.
I was twenty-two, in my last semester of college, and my checking account had exactly forty-seven dollars in it.
Babysitting was the only thing keeping me afloat.
I had a small reputation in town for being reliable with kids.
Word of mouth passed my number around like a business card at a school pickup line.
That was probably how the father found me.
Babysitting was the only thing keeping me afloat.
He messaged me on a Friday afternoon while I was studying for a midterm.
Hi, I got your number from a neighbor. I need someone tomorrow for my two boys. All day, if you can.
I straightened up in my chair.
Sure, I can do Saturday. Would you want to hop on a quick call first? Just so we can go over expectations.
I need someone tomorrow for my two boys.
I’d rather explain everything when you get here.
Something about that text made me hesitate.
Most parents jumped at the chance to interview a stranger before handing over their children.
This felt backward.
But I needed the money for rent, so I agreed.
He gave me the address, then added a rate that was almost double what I usually charged.
I should’ve seen that as a red flag.
This felt backward.
My roommate, Kayla, wandered out of the kitchen holding a mug.
“Why are you staring at your phone like that?”
“New client. He wants me tomorrow, all day, for two boys.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound thrilled.”
“He wouldn’t do a phone interview. Said he’d rather explain in person. And he’s offering double my usual rate.”
Kayla wrinkled her nose.
“You don’t sound thrilled.”
“That’s weird, right?” I asked.
She shrugged. “But text me his address before you go. Just in case.”
“I will.”
The next morning, I drove across town with my stomach in knots.
The GPS led me to a quiet street lined with maple trees.
When I pulled up to the address, my stomach sank.
“That’s weird, right?”
The house looked forgotten.
The lawn hadn’t been cut in weeks, the flower beds were choked with weeds, and one shutter hung slightly crooked.
It didn’t match the neighborhood at all.
In fact, it felt like something from a creepy movie.
I sat in my car for a full minute, gripping the steering wheel.
It felt like something from a creepy movie.
“Just do it, Emma,” I whispered to myself. “Meet him, size it up, and if it’s bad you leave.”
I texted Kayla the address and got out.
The doorbell chimed a soft two-note melody.
Footsteps approached, and then the door swung open.
Everything I had been bracing for dissolved.
A man stood in the doorway, maybe in his late thirties, with kind, tired eyes and a warm smile.
Everything I had been bracing for dissolved.
Two little boys peeked out from behind his legs.
One clutched a stuffed dinosaur and the other grinned up at me with a missing front tooth.
“You must be Emma,” he said. “Come in, please. I’m so glad you made it.”
“Hi. Yes, thank you for having me.”
The taller boy tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Dad, is she the one who’s gonna play with us?”
“She is, buddy. Say hello.”
Two little boys peeked out from behind his legs.
“Hi,” the little one said shyly.
“Hi there. What’s your dinosaur’s name?”
“Rexy.”
I laughed, and just like that, the tension in my shoulders started to ease.
I stepped inside the cozy house.
I expected the father to hand over the emergency contacts and leave, but he sat down at the kitchen island instead.
The tension in my shoulders started to ease.
Before I could question the man, one of the boys took my hand.
He led me to the couch and handed me a picture book.
“Do you know how to read this?” he asked.
“I sure do,” I said.
Behind me, I heard the father clear his throat.
“I’ll be right in the kitchen if you need anything, Emma.”
“Do you know how to read this?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “I thought you had errands today?”
“I do. I’m heading out in a few minutes.”
But he didn’t.
Not in a few minutes, not in an hour, not after we finished the picture book, or built a tower of blocks, or made a fort out of couch cushions.
Every time I peeked toward the kitchen, he was still there.
“I thought you had errands today?”
Laptop open.
Coffee mug in hand.
Watching, but not watching.
Present in a way I couldn’t quite name.
Around noon, he wandered in with two plates of sandwiches for the boys and a coffee for me.
