Chapter 3 - WHAT HOME ACTUALLY MEANS
A few days later, Nancy asked permission to take several unused household items to Janine’s small home in Mesa.
Edward offered to drive.
She refused twice.
He came anyway.
Janine Carter lived in a one-story yellow house with a blue mailbox and wind chimes hanging from the porch.
The moment Edward stepped inside, something caught him completely off guard.
The smell.
Coffee.
Laundry soap.
Chicken roasting somewhere in the kitchen.
Old books.
Something sweet.
Something warm.
Janine hugged Nancy before turning toward Edward.
Her cloudy eyes narrowed.
“So you’re the billionaire.”
Nancy nearly choked.
“Grandma.”
“What? He knows.”
Edward laughed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Janine pointed at him.
“You’re too thin.”
Nancy stared.
“He is absolutely not thin.”
“Men who work too much always look thin.”
Janine made him sit down.
Five minutes later, Edward was holding a plate of cornbread he had not asked for while Nancy unpacked an old table lamp from the estate.
Then Janine showed Nancy the surgery letter.
Edward watched Nancy read it again.
“Full coverage,” Janine whispered. “Can you believe that?”
Nancy squeezed her hand.
“We got lucky.”
Edward looked away.
Later, while Nancy loaded empty boxes into his car, he stood on Janine’s porch.
“Your grandmother’s house feels different,” he said.
“Different from what?”
“Mine.”
Nancy waited.
Edward glanced back through the screen door.
“It smells like somebody lives here.”
Nancy smiled softly.
“That’s what home smells like.”
The sentence hit him harder than she intended.
Edward had spent childhood moving through five foster homes.
At eighteen, he had left the system with forty dollars, two pairs of jeans and everything he owned stuffed into a black garbage bag.
Nobody had ever waited up for him.
Nobody saved dinner.
Nobody asked what time he would be home.
He had spent the next twenty-four years building enough wealth to make certain he would never need anyone.
Now he owned one of the largest houses in the county.
And Nancy was right.
It did not smell like home.
The following Monday, he found her sorting pantry supplies.
“What would you do with the food we throw away?”
Nancy looked at him.
“What?”
“The extra food. Produce. Bread. Prepared meals.”
“I’d donate it.”
“Where?”
“There’s a family shelter about fifteen minutes away. They accept fresh surplus if it’s properly packed.”
“Set it up.”
Nancy smiled.
“I can do that.”
“And increase the grocery budget.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Buy extra.”
“How much?”
“Double it.”
She stared at him as if he had lost his mind.
“Edward, doubling your grocery budget is thousands of dollars.”
“You have the card.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
He leaned against the counter.
“You told me good food was being wasted in my house.”
“Yes.”
“Fix it.”
Her expression softened.
“That’ll help a lot of families.”
“Then why are we still discussing it?”
Nancy shook her head.
“You’re impossible.”
“You work for me.”
“Exactly. Somebody has to tell you.”
He smiled.
Neither of them saw Valerie standing quietly at the far end of the hallway.
That Friday, the integrity audit arrived on Edward’s desk.
Nancy had been working for him twenty-nine days.
Not one inappropriate charge.
Not one unexplained dollar.
Edward closed the folder.
Valerie stood across from him.
“Shall I archive it?”
Edward hesitated.
He should have said yes.
Instead, old fear spoke first.
“Keep monitoring.”
Valerie’s eyebrow lifted.
“You expect something?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Edward looked down at Nancy’s name.
May you like
“Because I’ve been wrong before.”
That single decision almost cost him the one person he had finally learned to trust.
