Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
Vanessa did not look up from her bag. “I need to rest first, Lauren.”
By nine o’clock, I was alone in my own bedroom, stacking manila folders on my duvet. My tax documents, my client marketing strategies, and my personal files lay scattered across the mattress, leaving barely enough room for me to lie down.
The smell of damp pine clung to the hallway, carried in on the wheels of her suitcases.
I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up a stack of quarterly reports. The walls of my room felt closer than they had an hour ago, my entire independent life reduced to the width of a queen-sized mattress.
I looked at the pink folder containing my lease agreement, sitting on top of my bedside table where I had quickly set it down. It was the only proof I had of my own space, signed by my parents when I moved in.
From the other side of the wall came a rhythmic metallic scrape.
