The house was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the hallway mural and the flickering streetlight outside. Noel sat on the edge of her bed, wrapped in her blanket, staring at her phone. She hadn't spoken to anyone all day. Her cousin had gone quiet. Her inbox was empty. Her stomach was hollow.
Then the phone rang.
She blinked at the screen.
Tasha.
They hadn't talked in weeks.
Noel hesitated, then answered.
"Hello?"
Tasha's voice came sharp, fast. "Girl, I just heard you lost your job. What happened?"
Noel swallowed. "Factory laid everyone off. No warning."
Tasha scoffed. "Damn. You really let that happen? You been there how long?"
"Eleven years," Noel said quietly.
"Eleven years and you ain't got nothing saved?" Tasha snapped. "You knew that job wasn't forever. You should've had a backup plan."
Noel's chest tightened. "I did what I could. I was surviving."
"Surviving ain't enough," Tasha said. "You always been reckless with money. Buying takeout, driving that Jeep like you rich. Now look."
Noel stood up, blanket falling to the floor. "You don't know what I've been dealing with."
"I know you ain't got no job, no car, and no savings," Tasha said. "That's facts."
Noel's voice rose. "You think I wanted this? You think I planned to lose everything in a week?"
"I think you ignored the signs," Tasha shot back. "You always act like things gonna work out just 'cause you hope they do."
Noel paced the room, fists clenched. "I worked overtime. I skipped meals. I paid bills late just to keep the lights on. You think I didn't try?"
"You didn't try smart," Tasha said. "You been living like the world owes you something."
Noel stopped cold. Her voice dropped. "Don't talk to me like I'm lazy."
"I'm talking to you like someone who needs to hear the truth," Tasha said. "You need to grow up."
Noel's breath hitched. "You know what? I called you when my mom died. You were the only one who showed up. I thought you understood me."
"I did," Tasha said. "But I'm tired of watching you fall apart and blame the world."
Noel's voice cracked. "I'm not blaming the world. I'm drowning."
There was silence on the line.
Then Tasha sighed. "Look, I didn't call to fight. Look, people were talking. I wanted to hear it from you."
"Well, now you heard it," Noel said, voice flat.
"I hope you figure it out," Tasha said. "But I can't carry you."
"I never asked you to," Noel whispered.
The line went dead.
Noel stared at the phone, heart pounding. Her hands trembled. She sat back down, blanket pulled tight around her shoulders.
She felt exposed. Ashamed. Angry. Hurt.
She thought about the mural. The locket. The velvet pouch. The repo man. The factory gate. The five friends who hadn't called. The cousin who couldn't help.
She curled into herself, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
She didn't know who to trust anymore.
She didn't know who was left.
Noel sat on the edge of her bed, phone still in her hand, the call with Tasha echoing in her ears. Her chest felt tight, her throat raw. She hadn't expected kindness, but she hadn't expected cruelty either. The words stung—reckless, lazy, blame the world. They clung to her skin like smoke.
She dropped the phone onto the blanket and stared at the ceiling. The fan spun slowly, casting shadows like broken halos. Her thoughts spiraled.
She thought about the factory. About the rhythm of the machines. About the way her hands used to move without thinking—kneading, packing, sealing. She missed the noise. The routine. The sense of purpose.
Now, the silence was unbearable.
She got up, walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge. Empty. Just a takeout box with one fry and a bottle of ketchup. She closed it again.
She opened the cabinet. A half bag of rice. A can of beans. She didn't feel hungry. She felt hollow.
She wandered into the living room, sat on the couch, and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. The mural upstairs waited, but she didn't go to it. The locket lay on the coffee table, still open. Her mother's face smiled faintly from the photo, frozen in time.
Noel picked it up, pressed it to her chest.
"I'm trying," she whispered. "I swear I'm trying."
Her phone buzzed again.
Devon.
She hesitated, then answered.
"Yo," he said. "You good?"
Noel didn't respond.
"I heard about the factory," he continued. "That's messed up."
"Yeah," she said softly.
"You got a plan?"
Noel blinked. "No."
Devon sighed. "You should've seen it coming. They been cutting hours for months."
"I didn't have anywhere else to go," she said.
"You could've gone back to school. Got a trade. Something."
"I couldn't afford it."
"You could've figured it out."
Noel's voice cracked. "I was surviving."
Devon paused. "You always say that."
Noel stood up, pacing. "You think I didn't want better? You think I liked living paycheck to paycheck?"
"I think you got comfortable," Devon said. "And now you mad the world moved on."
She stopped cold. "I lost everything in a week."
"I know," he said. "But you gotta stop acting like you the only one struggling."
"I never said that," she whispered.
"You act like it."
Noel's breath hitched. "I called you when I needed help. You said 'let me know' and disappeared."
"I got my own problems."
"I know," she said. "But don't call me just to remind me I failed."
Devon was quiet. Then: "I didn't mean it like that."
"But you said it like that."
The line went quiet.
"I hope you figure it out," he said finally.
Noel hung up.
She dropped the phone onto the couch and collapsed beside it, blanket pulled tight around her. Her body shook. Her breath came in gasps.
She felt like she was unraveling.
Like the world had turned its back.
Like even the people who used to love her couldn't see her anymore.
The next day. The morning crept in slowly, like it was unsure whether to show up. Pale light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the living room floor. Noel hadn't slept. She'd drifted in and out of shallow dreams, each one stitched with fragments of the factory, the repo truck, and voices that sounded like her own doubts.
She sat up on the couch, blanket tangled around her legs, eyes swollen from crying. Her mouth was dry. Her limbs ached. The silence in the house felt different today—not just empty, but expectant. Like something was waiting.
She walked to the kitchen, opened the cabinet. Still just rice and beans. She didn't bother cooking. She poured a glass of water and sipped slowly, staring out the window at the empty curb where her Jeep used to be.
Her phone buzzed once.
She didn't check it.
Noel wandered into her parents' old room, the mural in the hallway glowing faintly in the morning light. She touched the painted vines, the stars, the girl with grey eyes. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the wall, tracing the outline like it might open again.
She sat on the bed, pulled the velvet pouch from the metal box, and opened the locket. Her mother's smile stared back at her. Noel pressed it to her chest, eyes closed.
"I don't know what to do," she whispered.
She thought about applying for jobs. About walking to the library to use the public computer. About asking Bree if she could borrow her bus pass. But each thought felt like climbing a mountain barefoot.
She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan. It spun slowly, casting soft shadows like clock hands.
It was just past noon when Noel heard the knock. Sharp. Intentional. Not the kind that came from neighbors or delivery drivers. She sat up slowly from the couch, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, heart thudding.
She opened the door.
A man in a tailored navy suit stood on her porch, clipboard in hand, sunglasses perched on his head. He looked out of place—too polished and too clean for the cracked pavement and sagging porches.
"Noel Carter?" he asked.
She nodded, wary.
"I'm here on behalf of Halston Development Group. We've recently acquired this property and the surrounding blocks. I'm here to inform you that you have three days to vacate before construction begins."
Noel blinked. "What?"
"Three days," he repeated. "The land has been purchased. Permits approved. Demolition starts Friday."
She stepped outside, arms crossed. "This is my house. My parents' house. You can't just—"
"It's not yours anymore," he said flatly. "The deed transferred last month. You should've received notice."
"I didn't," she snapped. "I didn't get anything."
He shrugged. "It's public record. You can check the county site."
Noel's voice rose. "You think you can just show up and erase people's lives?"
The businessman didn't flinch. "This isn't personal. It's progress."
Noel stepped closer. "Progress for who? You're tearing down homes. Memories. History."
He glanced around the block. "This area is surrounded by vacant houses, drug dens, and homeless encampments. You call that history?"
Noel's fists clenched. "This house is all I have. My parents built it. I grew up here."
"And now it's surrounded by decay," he said. "We're cleaning it up. Bringing in new infrastructure. Mixed-use buildings. Retail. Jobs."
"Jobs for who?" she snapped. "People like me just got laid off. You think we can afford whatever you're building?"
He sighed. "Look, I get it. You're upset. But this neighborhood's been dying for years. We're giving it a pulse."
Noel's voice cracked. "You're giving it a price tag."
The businessman checked his clipboard. "You have three days. After that, we'll have crews here. If you're still inside, it becomes a legal issue."
Noel stepped back, breath shaky. "Where am I supposed to go?"
"That's not my department," he said. "I'm just here to deliver the notice."
She stared at him, eyes burning. "You don't care."
"I care about the city," he said. "About growth. About safety. This block isn't safe. You know that."
Noel looked around—at the boarded-up windows, the broken glass, the graffiti tags. She knew he was right. But it still felt wrong.
"This house is the only thing I have left," she whispered.
He nodded once. "Then I suggest you start packing."
He turned and walked down the steps, clipboard tucked under his arm.
Noel stood frozen on the porch, the wind tugging at her blanket.
She walked back inside, locked the door, and collapsed onto the couch. Her breath came in shallow bursts. Her hands trembled.
Three days.
She looked around the living room—at the mural, the locket, the record player, the empty fridge. Everything felt fragile now. Temporary.
She thought about her parents. About the way her mother used to light candles in the kitchen. About her father's jazz records. About the way the house used to feel alive.
Now it felt like a tomb.
She curled into herself, blanket pulled tight, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
She didn't know how to fight a system that had already decided she didn't belong.