My landlord made us leave for a week so his brother could use the house we’re renting.

Nancy couldn’t have imagined her life getting any worse than it already was when her landlord informed her that she and her three daughters needed to vacate their rental home for a week. But an unexpected encounter with the landlord’s brother uncovered a betrayal she never saw coming.

Our home isn’t perfect, but it’s ours. The floors groan with every step, and the paint in the kitchen peels so much I’ve nicknamed it “modern abstract art.”

Still, it’s where we belong. My daughters—Lily, Emma, and Sophie—make it feel like home with their laughter and the sweet moments that remind me why I work so hard every day.

Finances were always a source of anxiety. As a waitress, I barely made enough to cover the rent and utilities. There was no room for error, no safety net. If something went wrong, I wasn’t sure how we’d manage.

The next day, as I was hanging laundry, the phone rang.

“Hello?” I said, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“It’s Peterson,” came the voice that instantly made my stomach churn.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Peterson. Is everything all right?” I asked cautiously.

“I need you out of the house for a week,” he said, as nonchalantly as if he were asking me to pick up his mail.

“What?” I froze, Sophie’s tiny sock still in my hand.

“My brother is coming to town, and I told him he could use your place.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “But this is my home. I have a lease.”

“Don’t give me that lease nonsense,” he snapped. “Remember last month when your rent was late? I could’ve kicked you out then, but I didn’t. You owe me.”

I gripped the phone tightly. “I was late by a single day,” I said, my voice shaking. “My daughter was sick. I explained that—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “You need to be gone by Friday. If you’re not, don’t expect to come back.”

“Mr. Peterson, please,” I pleaded, trying to suppress the panic rising in my voice. “I have nowhere else to go.”

“That’s not my problem,” he said coldly before the line went dead.

I sat on the couch, staring blankly at the phone in my hand. My heart raced, and I struggled to catch my breath.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” Lily, my oldest, asked, her worried face peeking through the doorway.

I forced a smile. “Nothing, sweetheart. Go play with your sisters.”

But it wasn’t nothing. I had no savings, no nearby family, and no way to push back. If I resisted Peterson, he’d find an excuse to evict us permanently.

By Thursday night, I’d packed the essentials into a few bags. The girls had so many questions, but I didn’t know how to explain.

“We’re going on a little adventure,” I told them, faking enthusiasm.

“Is it far?” Sophie asked, clutching her stuffed bunny, Mr. Floppy.

“Not too far,” I replied, avoiding her gaze.

The hostel was worse than I had anticipated. The room was cramped, barely enough space for the four of us, and the walls were so thin we could hear every noise from the neighboring rooms.

“Mama, it’s so loud,” Emma said, covering her ears.

“I know, sweetheart,” I said softly, brushing her hair back.

Lily tried to entertain her sisters with a game of I Spy, but it didn’t hold their attention for long. Sophie’s face crumpled, and soon tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Where’s Mr. Floppy?” she cried, her voice breaking.

My stomach dropped. In the chaos of leaving, I had forgotten her beloved bunny.

“He’s still at home,” I said, my throat tight.

“I can’t sleep without him!” Sophie sobbed, clinging to my arm.

I wrapped her in my arms, whispering reassurances I didn’t believe. That night, as she cried herself to sleep, I stared at the cracked ceiling, feeling utterly defeated.

By the fourth night, her sobbing hadn’t stopped. Every tear felt like a stab to my heart.

“Please, Mama,” she whimpered, her voice raw. “I need Mr. Floppy.”

I held her close, her words echoing in my mind.

“I’ll get him,” I whispered, though I had no idea how.

That night, I parked a block away from our house, my heart pounding. What if they wouldn’t let me in? What if Peterson was there? But Sophie’s tear-streaked face propelled me forward.

I knocked on the door, holding my breath. A man I didn’t recognize answered. He was tall, with kind eyes and an air of calm.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“Hi,” I stammered. “I’m the tenant here. My daughter left her stuffed bunny inside. Could I retrieve it?”

He looked confused. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yes,” I said, swallowing hard. “But Mr. Peterson told us to leave for a week because you needed the house.”

His expression darkened. “He told me the house was empty and ready for me.”

The words poured out before I could stop them: the call, the threats, the hostel. His face tightened with anger as he listened.

“That… that jerk,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Come in. Let’s find the bunny.”

I hesitated before stepping inside, overwhelmed by the familiar scent of home. Jack, as he introduced himself, helped me search Sophie’s room until he found Mr. Floppy under the bed.

“Thank you,” I said, clutching the bunny tightly.

“Tell me everything,” Jack urged, sitting on the edge of the bed. Reluctantly, I explained the situation.

Jack’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t right,” he said, grabbing his phone.

“Wait—what are you doing?”

“Fixing this,” he said firmly.

The conversation that followed was one-sided but heated. When he hung up, he turned to me.

“Pack your things at the hostel,” he said. “You’re moving back tonight.”

“What about you?” I asked, stunned.

“I’ll find another place. I can’t stay here knowing what my brother did. And he’ll cover your rent for the next six months.”

That night, Jack helped us move back in. Sophie lit up when she saw Mr. Floppy, hugging him tightly.

Over the weeks, Jack kept appearing—fixing leaks, bringing groceries, and becoming a fixture in our lives. Slowly, our dinners together turned into something more.

One quiet evening, as we sat on the porch, Jack asked, “Will you marry me?”

Through tears of joy, I said yes.

A month later, we moved into a cozy home of our own, and for the first time, I felt truly secure. Jack wasn’t just our savior—he was family.