Emily's POV
"Where is she? Emily! EMILY!"
The voice was so loud throughout the apartment building, each sound dripping with rage.
I froze at the kitchen sink, my hands dipped in the cold dishwater, as the single plate I'd been washing slipped from my grip and clattered against the metal basin, startling Mum, who was in the living room staring blankly at the TV.
"I've had enough of this woman! Four months! FOUR MONTHS!"
Mr. Grissom. I'd recognize that voice anywhere. But this was different from his other visits. This wasn't the tired impatience I'd grown accustomed to. This was fury, raw and unfiltered, echoing down the hallway for all the neighbors to hear.
My face went beet red. Shame burned through my chest like acid.
"Mommy?" Lily's small voice came from behind me. "Who's that man yelling?"
I turned around quickly, forcing my lips into what I hoped was a reassuring smile, even though my heart was beating so hard.
"Just someone looking for the wrong apartment, sweetheart."
Her blue eyes searched my face with worry a seven-year-old shouldn't. She knew. God help me, she always knew when I was lying.
"But Mommy…"
"Please, baby." My voice cracked despite my best efforts. " Why don't you go to your room and finish your homework, okay? Then we'll have dinner."
She hesitated, holding tight her stuffed bunny Mr. Hop against her chest, before finally nodding and padding down the hallway.
I waited until I heard her bedroom door click shut before releasing the breath I'd been holding.
The pounding on my door started before I could gather myself.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Each knock matched the pounding in my head. My heart raced as I wiped my damp palms on my worn-out jeans.
The short walk from the kitchen to the front door felt like miles.
My hand hovered over the doorknob. Maybe if I stayed quiet, he'd think I wasn't home.
Maybe he'd leave like he had the other times, grumbling under his breath but ultimately walking away. Maybe…
"I know you're in there, Emily! I can hear your TV!"
The show from the TV blared from the living room. Of course.
There was no escape. There never was.
With trembling hands, I opened the door.
There he was… Mr. Grissom, red-faced and frowning with bushy eyebrows pulled together above his narrowed eyes that looked at me with nothing but contempt.
Behind him, I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Johnson, my neighbor and friend peering out from her doorway, her face showing pity. The shame intensified, spreading through my body like poison.
"Mr. Grissom," I started, my voice barely above a whisper, "I'm so sorry about…"
"Sorry?" He barked out a laugh that held no humor. "Sorry? You think 'sorry' pays the bills, Emily? You think 'sorry' keeps the lights on in this building?"
"No, I…"
"Four months!" He held up four thick fingers in front of my face. "Four months I've been coming here, listening to your excuses.
"Just one more week, Mr. Grissom, " I said my hands clasped together in a plea as I leaned back. My next paycheck is coming. Things will get better soon."
Mr. Grissom yelled, "Well, I'm done! You hear me? Done!"
I gripped the edge of the door so tightly as though it could rid me of the pain. "Please, if you could just lower your voice…"
"Lower my voice?" His eyes bulged. "I've been lowering my voice for months! I've been patient, understanding, given you chance after chance after chance! And what do I get? Nothing! Not a single cent!"
My throat tightened, and tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.
"I have a family too, you know," Mr. Grissom continued, his voice taking on a cruel edge. "A wife, kids, grandkids. You think they don't need things? You think I can just let people live in my building for free because they've got sob stories?"
Each word was a knife, precise and cutting.
"I know you do," I managed, my voice shaking. "And I promise, I'm trying. I just need a little more time. I've been picking up extra shifts, and I'm looking for…"
"Time?" He stepped closer, and I instinctively stepped back into my apartment. "Lady, time ran out two months ago. I've been running on charity, and guess what? I don't run a charity. This is a business."
"Mr. Grissom, please." I hated how desperate I sounded, how small. "My mother, she's sick, and my daughter…"
"I don't want to hear about your mother or your daughter!" His face was inches from mine now, spit flying from his lips.
"You know what? I'm tired of the excuses. Tired of the tears. Tired of feeling like the bad guy for wanting what's owed to me!"
My vision blurred. I dug my fingernails into my palms, using the pain to anchor myself.
"You've got until the end of the month," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly tone that was somehow worse than the shouting.
"End of the month, Emily. That's three weeks.
You come up with every penny you owe me, and I mean every penny, or I'm throwing you out. Your wretched self, your daughter, and your mother. Out on the street where you belong."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Wretched. He'd called me wretched.
"You can't…" I started, but my voice failed.
"I can, and I will. I've already talked to my lawyer. The eviction papers are drawn up and ready. So you better start packing, or start praying for a miracle, because I'm done being Mr. Nice Guy."
He turned and stormed away.
I stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move, unable to breathe.
I forced myself to close the door. The moment it clicked shut, my legs gave out.
I slid down to the floor, my back against the door, as I pressed my hands over my mouth to muffle the sob that tore from my throat. The tears came anyway, hot and fast, streaming down my face and dripping off my chin.
My whole body shook with the effort of keeping quiet, of not letting mom or Lily hear me fall apart.
Wretched. Out on the street. Where you belong.
How did it come to this? Five years ago, I'd had everything. Tom would come home from his shifts at the hospital smelling like antiseptic and exhaustion, yet his face would still light up the moment he saw Lily and me.
He'd scoop her into his arms, his laughter filling the house, chasing away the fatigue clinging to his shoulders. We had plans, save for a house with a backyard, maybe another baby, take that trip to go relax.
Then one phone call at 2:00 a.m. tore my world in half.
The officer's voice was soft, careful, but there was something in it, something that made my stomach ache before he even said the words.
"There's been an accident. A drunk driver. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Greene."
When I got to the scene, the night was alive with chaos. But silence fell when they saw me. That was when they told me he'd died instantly.
They said it as if it should comfort me. As if dying instantly meant he hadn't felt pain.
I clung to that thought like a prayer, whispering it to myself over and over, he didn't suffer, he didn't suffer. Because Tom was a good man. He didn't deserve pain. He didn't deserve an ending like this."
Now I was a widow at thirty-two, with a seven-year-old daughter, a mother whose Alzhemier was getting worse, and a mountain of debt that grew taller every day.
The life insurance barely covered the funeral. Tom's hospital benefits evaporated. And suddenly, I was drowning.
The caregiving jobs I'd managed to find paid barely minimum wage. The hours were long, the work exhausting, but it was all I could get without a degree.
I'd sold everything of value, And still, it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
"Mommy?" Lily's voice pulled me out of my painful memory.
My head snapped up. Lily stood at the end of the hallway. Her face was pale, her eyes too bright.
Oh God. How long had she been standing there?
I scrambled to my feet and quickly wiped my face with the back of my palm. "Lily! I thought you were doing your homework."
She walked toward me slowly. "Why are you crying? That was Mr. Grissom, wasn't it?"
My heart sank. "Honey…"
"Is he going to make us leave?" Her voice was so small, so frightened, that it broke something inside me.
I knelt down and held out my arms, and she ran to me, burying her face in my shoulder and I felt her small body trembling.
"No," I lied, the word ash in my mouth. "No, baby. Everything's going to be fine. Mommy's going to figure it out. I promise."
"But I heard him yelling. He sounded really, really mad."
"Don't you worry about that," I said, pulling back to meet her gaze. "That's grown-up stuff. Your job is to be a kid and have fun, okay?"
She nodded, but I could see she didn't really believe me. My Lily was smart, always noticing when things were tense in our family.
"How about we have dinner?" I said with forced brightness, standing and taking her hand as we walked back to the kitchen.
From the living room, I heard Mom's confused voice. "Emily? Is it time for dinner? Where's Tom? Isn't he supposed to be home by now?"
I closed my eyes and gripped the edge of the counter. Not tonight. Please, not tonight.
"Tom's working late, Mom," I called back, because it was easier than explaining for the hundredth time that Tom was dead. That he'd been dead for five years. That she'd cried at his funeral and forgotten it by the next day.
Lily looked up at me with knowing, worried eyes.
"Go wash your hands for dinner, sweetie," I said gently.
As soon as she left the kitchen, I braced my hands on the counter and let my head drop.
I was so tired. Tired of struggling. Tired of pretending everything was okay. Tired of being strong when I felt like the thinnest sheet of glass, one more blow away from shattering completely.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Lily pushed her pasta around her plate, stealing glances at me when she thought I wasn't looking. Mom ate quietly, her gaze distant and lost. I managed to force down a few bites.
After dinner, I got Lily ready for bed, "I love you, Mommy," Lily whispered as I tucked her in.
"I love you too, baby," I managed, kissing her forehead. "More than all the stars in the sky."
After she fell asleep, I helped Mom to her room, changed her into her nightgown, and settled her into bed. She looked so fragile, nothing like the strong woman who'd raised me.
Alzhemier was cruel, eating her away piece by piece, leaving behind a shell that looked like my mother.
"Goodnight, Mom," I whispered, kissing her cheek.
"Goodnight, dear," she murmured, already half asleep. "Tell Tom I said hello."
The tears came again as I closed her door.
It was past midnight when my phone rang, startling me. I picked it up, my stomach twisting at the number on the screen.
"Mrs. Greene? This is Sandra, the night nurse from Dr. Landon's office. We've been trying to reach you. Your mother's medications are ready for pickup, but they weren't covered by insurance this month.
The total is three hundred and forty-seven dollars. Can you come by tomorrow?"
I felt my stomach drop. Another expense we couldn't afford. "Of... of course," I stammered. "I'll be there first thing in the morning."
As I hung up the phone, I felt completely hopeless. I was drowning, barely keeping my head above water, and I couldn't see any way out.
I dragged myself to bed, my mind still racing with worries and half-formed plans. But sleep, like it had for months now, didn't come. I tossed and turned, thinking about unpaid bills, Mr. Grissom's threat to kick us out, Lily's needs, and Mom's medication.
In the quiet darkness, I buried my face in my pillow and sobbed. For Tom. For my daughter. For the impossible weight of it all.
"Please," I whispered into the darkness, my voice raw and broken. "Please, just give me a sign. A chance. Something. I can't do this anymore. I can't…I'm so tired. Please. Help me."
The apartment was silent except for the distant sound of traffic and the drip of the kitchen faucet I couldn't afford to fix.
Then, cutting through the quiet, a single car horn blared outside, sharp, insistent, almost angry.
I didn't move. Didn't think anything of it.
I didn't know yet that somewhere in the city, my prayer had already been heard.