His wife was seriously ill. Her husband immediately went to the housekeeper and promised to leave her his property. The day the paperwork was prepared, the whole family was shocked by her true identity.

The fatal illness took away Linda’s agility, leaving her frail body lying paralyzed on the bed in a small house in a quiet suburb of Seattle, Washington. Her husband, Henry, was initially concerned and took care of her, but then fatigue and loneliness made him seek out May, the gentle housekeeper/caregiver that the family had just hired through an acquaintance.

“Have some hot chicken soup,” May said softly, placing the bowl of soup on the table.

“Thank you. You’re so thoughtful,” Henry replied, his eyes sad.

May gently held his hand, her voice comforting: “Don’t be sad anymore. I know you’ve worked hard.”

May’s sweet words and thoughtful gestures gradually moved Henry. As Linda fell asleep, they began to sneak around each other. May’s mind was slowly beginning to form the idea of taking over the house. She kept urging Henry: “I just want a little home. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life. Why don’t you transfer the ownership of this house to me—just sign it at the County Recorder’s Office and it’s done.”

Henry hesitated, but his blind affection made him nod. They set a date to go to the county building the next day to do the paperwork to transfer the name on the deed book.

The night before the appointment, as May was preparing the printed documents, Henry’s daughter, Lynn, walked into the living room. In her hand was a tape recorder/telephone.

“Dad, listen to this first,” Lynn said, her voice calm but cold…
The recording played: May’s voice whispering to Henry, sweet: “I just need a small home…” But right after that, it was May’s voice calling her friend on the porch that Lynn had secretly recorded: “That old woman is about to leave. I can get this house in Seattle. Mr. Henry is old, I just need to coax him a little and he will sign the deed right away…”

Henry was silent, his face pale. He turned to look at May—who was trembling, her face drained of blood.

“May, explain!” Henry asked, his voice trembling.

May was speechless, only knowing how to cry and beg for forgiveness.

Lynn took a step forward, her eyes cold: “Dad may be blind, but I am not. Mom just died, and dad was blatantly deceived by someone else. I will not let dad lose the house that mom spent her whole life building.” Then she turned to May: “Leave. Now.”

May bowed her head, covered her face and cried, then ran out of the house.

Henry collapsed into a chair, covering his face with his hands and sobbing. He had lost his wife, and now he was about to lose both his faith and his home. He looked at his daughter, his voice choked: “You saved me…”

Lynn nodded slightly, hugging him: “I did it to protect you and this house—Mom’s house.”

That night, Henry understood: the most precious thing was not blind love, but sincerity and family affection—something that could not be bought with a transfer document at any county office in America.