Andrea
I was already sweating in my palms as I rang the doorbell.
The ad had sounded too good to be true— flexible hours, decent pay, a nice neighborhood. Maybe I was stupid, but I didn’t care. I needed something. Anything.
The door swung open, and I saw her: Rachel. She was even prettier than her profile photo. Long auburn hair, a rich-looking blouse, and an enticing smile.
“You must be Andrea,” she said, beaming. “Come in. I’m so glad you reached out.”
I stepped inside, clutching my tote bag to my side anxiously.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “I really appreciate you giving me a chance.”
“Oh, of course,” she said, shutting the door behind me. “I remember being your age and so desperate for a break. You have experience, right? Babysitting, nannying?”
“Yes. I always helped looking after
