At seventy-four, I thought I was just paying for peace from roof leaks. I didn’t know that what the workers would find up there would drag me into one of the biggest decisions of my life.
My name is Evelyn. I’m seventy-four years old, and I’ve been a widow for almost ten years now. My husband Richard passed suddenly — a heart attack. One moment he was out in the garden trimming the hedges, grumbling about the weeds, and the next… he was gone. No warning. No time to say goodbye.
We never had children. No family left either. Just me and this old, creaking house that seemed to sigh with me at night.
I kept myself busy after Richard died. I tended my roses, baked bread, and volunteered at the library. The teenagers rolled their eyes when I suggested Dickens, but I still tried. Busy hands, I learned, keep grief from settling too heavily. Still, nothing filled the silence. And in that silence, you start hearing things — not voices, but the house.
Old beams groaning. Pipes rattling. And worst of all, the steady drip-drip-drip of water sneaking through the roof I couldn’t afford to fix.
Every storm left me lying awake, clutching my quilt, staring at the ceiling. I’d wonder, Will tonight be the night it caves in? Will I wake up buried under soggy shingles?
This spring, I finally scraped enough money together for repairs. I found a small roofing crew. They weren’t exactly the choir-boy types. Tattoos, cigarettes, loud music blasting from their truck. The sort of men Richard would’ve called “trouble in steel-toe boots.”
But I told myself, Evelyn, you’re not here to judge them. You need a roof, not angels.
The morning they arrived, the roses trembled from the bass of their music. Four men jumped out of the truck, boots heavy on the gravel.
The first was Joseph. Young, maybe mid-twenties. His hair was too long for a roofer, but his eyes softened when he looked at me. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said politely, tipping his head. “We’ll get you taken care of.”
I smiled. “Thank you, dear. Call me Evelyn.”
Then came Josh. Loud. Swaggering like he owned my house already. “Where’s the access? We’re burnin’ daylight here.” He barely glanced at me before barking at the others to unload.
Kevin followed. Tall, lean, cigarette glued to his lip. He muttered, “This roof’s a nightmare already,” before even climbing the ladder.
And then there was Matt. Quiet. Neutral. He drifted after the others, his silence making me more uneasy than their noise.
Still, I decided to be a good hostess. Old habits die hard. At noon, I carried out a tray of turkey-and-cheese sandwiches with a jug of lemonade.
Joseph’s face lit up. “You didn’t have to do this, ma’am.”
“Nonsense,” I said warmly. “Hard work deserves a meal.”
He took his plate gently. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Josh, however, rolled his eyes. “What is this, a daycare? We’re not kids, lady.”
Something inside me pinched. Richard would’ve told me, Don’t let them rattle you, Eve. But Josh sneered as he snatched a sandwich, not even a thank you.
Kevin smirked. “Guess you’ve got yourself a house mom, Josh.”
Josh snorted. “Yeah. Maybe she’ll tuck us in, too.”
Matt just ate quietly. Joseph looked at me apologetically. “Don’t mind them. They just… talk.”
I forced a smile. But inside, unease crawled through me.
By the third day, the hammering had become a rhythm I almost trusted. I was in the kitchen, hands deep in bread dough, when a sharp shout broke the pattern.
“HOLY JEEZ!” It was Josh’s voice — too excited.
I wiped my hands on my apron and hurried outside. The men froze the second I stepped out.
Kevin was quick to cover. “Nothing, ma’am. Just a bad beam. We’ll patch it.”
But I saw it. The edge of something shoved under a tarp. A wooden box. Richard’s box.
I recognized it instantly — the grain of the wood, the brass corners. He’d shown it to me years ago, only days before his heart betrayed him. “Eve,” he had whispered, “if something happens, it’s yours. You’ll know when to open it.”
I had never opened it. Maybe I was afraid. Maybe I wasn’t ready.
Josh smirked. “Just some junk your old man stuffed up here.”
“Junk?” My voice snapped sharper than I intended. “That box belongs to me.”
Kevin’s eyes narrowed. “Funny thing, though… feels heavy for junk.”
Matt finally spoke, low and hesitant. “Maybe we should just hand it over.”
“Shut it, Matt,” Josh barked. “We found it. Finder’s keepers.”
Joseph cut in, firm. “It’s hers, Josh. Don’t be a thief.”
Josh laughed cruelly. “What are you, a boy scout? She’s just some old lady with a leaky roof.”
I stood taller, dusting flour off my apron. “Old lady or not, that’s my husband’s box. And you’ll regret it if you keep it from me.”
Silence fell heavy. Kevin chuckled under his breath.
That night, through the cracked kitchen window, I heard their voices drift in from the yard.
Josh: “We split it four ways. Easy money. She’s old, won’t know the difference.”
Kevin: “And we bump up her bill. Say the frame’s shot.”
Matt: “She can barely afford us now.”
Josh: “Exactly. She’ll scrape it together. And we’ll be rich.”
Joseph: “This isn’t right. It’s hers.”
Josh: “You think Grandma up there’s gonna spend it? She’ll die before she touches it. You want in or not, kid?”
The next morning, their truck rumbled off — but Joseph stayed behind. Hat twisting in his hands, shoulders hunched.
When I opened the door, he blurted, “Ma’am, here’s the box. It’s… it’s full of cash, gold, I don’t even know how much. They’re planning to take it. But it’s yours.” His hands trembled as he held it out.
My breath caught. That boy could have taken it and disappeared. Instead, he handed it to me.
“Joseph…” My voice cracked. “I knew about this box. Richard showed me. I never touched it.”
“You… you knew?” he asked, confused.
“Yes,” I nodded. “Because I wanted to see what people would do if they found it.”
His eyes widened. “So this was a test?”
I laid my hand over his. “Yes. And you passed.”
That evening, when the others returned, I was waiting. The wooden box sat on the table between us.
Josh started, “You can’t—”
“I know what you found,” I interrupted. “And I know what you planned.”
Josh went pale. “She’s bluffing.”
“I’m not,” I said firmly. “I heard everything.”
Joseph stood tall beside me.
Josh snarled, “You think you can call the cops on us?”
“I already did.”
Minutes later, blue lights flashed. Officers cuffed them one by one. Josh cursed, Kevin tried to bargain, Matt cried. Joseph stood steady.
After it was over, I turned to him. “I have no children. No heirs. This house, this money… it will all be yours when I’m gone. Unless you’d rather be my grandson while I’m still here.”
His face crumpled. He fell to his knees, hugging me tightly. “Grandma Evelyn…” he sobbed.
Six months later, he still came every week. For Thanksgiving, he brought his girlfriend. At Christmas, he tried baking bread — badly — and we laughed.
I once thought I would die alone in this old house. Instead, at seventy-four, I found a grandson.
Joseph squeezed my hand and said softly, “We’re a family now, Grandma Evelyn.”