She was proud her daughter had done well for herself, but the cost of college tuition weighed on her. She simply couldn't afford it.
I understood how hard it was to raise a child alone, so I offered to cover her daughter's tuition for all four years.
Georgette was so moved she burst into tears. She gripped my hands, thanking me over and over, swearing she'd repay my kindness someday.
But starting last month, things changed.
I came home one day and found Cora Fox sitting in my living room.
I had no idea why she was there. Georgette pulled me aside and whispered an explanation:
"Miss Henson, my daughter has nowhere to go on weekends. I haven't seen her in so long, so I told her she could stay for a couple of days."
I nodded and let it go. The house had plenty of rooms. Letting a mother and daughter spend some time together wasn't a big deal.
But gradually, something started to feel off.
The "couple of days" turned into a standing appointment, every single weekend without fail. Every Friday evening, Cora showed up at my door like clockwork and didn't leave until Monday morning.
At first, she just liked posing for photos in the living room and posting them online, showing off to her classmates about living in a mansion. I could understand that. Everyone wants to look good in front of other people.
What I couldn't understand was the way Cora looked at me. Every single time, her eyes were full of disgust and contempt, as if I owed her millions.
A few times, while I was sitting on the couch watching TV, she would walk by, pinch her nose, and complain loudly: "God, this is so annoying. How does a place this nice always reek of poverty?"
I actually thought she'd smelled something off, so I reminded Georgette to give the house a thorough cleaning.
But Cora only escalated. She started dousing every spot I'd sat in with disinfectant spray. She laid disposable seat covers on the couch and made me sit on them. A few times, I caught her throwing things I'd used straight into the trash.
When I confronted Georgette, she always offered the same sheepish excuse in private: "Cora just worries those things aren't sanitary. She's looking out for your health, Miss Henson, so she's a little strict about it."
I didn't think much of it. Between school and managing the day-to-day operations of my family's company, I was stretched so thin I barely had the energy to eat, let alone argue with her over things like that.
Until this afternoon.
The moment I saw that note taped to the door, it all clicked into place. Cora thought I was the freeloader here.
I'd been ready to teach both Georgette and Cora a lesson. But Georgette threw herself into begging, one plea after another:
"Miss Henson, I swear, it will never happen again."
"I'll set Cora straight today. I won't let her come here anymore."
"Please, after all the years I spent taking care of your parents, forgive me this once."
I looked at her, hunched and pitiful, and sighed. "Forget it."
"I'm not pressing charges."
After the police left, Georgette let out a long breath of relief, thanking me so profusely it bordered on groveling.
From that day on, Cora really did stop coming to the house. Georgette kept working just as diligently as before, keeping every room spotless.
The only problem was that things kept going missing.
A bottle of wine one day. A set of silverware the next. A designer dress the day after that.
Every time I asked, Georgette had an excuse ready:
"I'm so sorry, Miss Henson. I accidentally knocked that bottle of wine over while I was cleaning."
