My grandson secretly gave me a walkie-talkie for our bedtime chats — one night, it ended up revealing a conversation I wasn’t meant to hear.

After a ten-hour shift, I collapsed into my recliner, exhausted and aching. I closed my eyes.

Static crackled from the walkie-talkie.

“Hey Daddy, are you there?” Max’s sleepy voice floated through.

I smiled.

Then came another sound—the unmistakable voices of grown-ups. Lila’s light, easy laugh.

“You know, Tom, we should rent out her spare room. She’s hardly ever home.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“We could get $600 a month without her noticing,” Lila went on. “With all her evening shifts, she’ll never catch on.”

Thomas chuckled. “Mom’s always been trusting.”

“And once she starts paying for swimming lessons,” Lila added brightly, “we can finally plan that Hawaii trip. Free babysitting!”

I froze—not from fear, but from a hollow ache that left me numb.

“The best part?” Lila giggled. “She thinks daycare is $800. It’s only $500. We pocket $300 every month.”

Thomas laughed softly. “And when she gets older, we’ll find her a nice nursing home. That extra room will finally bring in some income.”

“She’ll say yes to anything if it’s for Max.”

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