I use a wheelchair, and after my stroke my daughter moved me into her apartment. She was only thirty-one, but she gave up her office, rearranged her entire life, and handled my transfers herself for fourteen months. She never made me feel like I was a burden or a job. Then her landlord gave her thirty days’ notice and told her that having a live-in aide would violate the lease.
I told my daughter I’d go into a facility. I even picked up a brochure and left it on the counter where I knew she’d find it. She didn’t say much when she saw it, but I could tell she’d already been trying to make peace with the idea. She started looking at other apartments, calling places that could accommodate both of us, and quietly calculating what she could afford.
Then the woman two doors down knocked on our door. My daughter had barely spoken to her in three years, but she asked if she could see the lease. She read the section about live-in aides twice and then asked my daughter whether the landlord had ever put his claim in writing.
My daughter showed her the notice. The woman stared at it for a long moment before saying she knew someone who could help. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time the landlord had tried something like this. And when she pulled an old folder out of her bag, my daughter realized the landlord had made one mistake — he had put the real reason for the eviction in writing…
