Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
A warning box popped up on the screen, stating that references would be contacted within forty-eight hours. If my father answered the call when Helen was in the room, the entire plan would collapse before Monday morning.
I clicked the submit button anyway, the hum of the laptop fan filling the quiet bedroom.
The green checkmark on my screen confirming my deposit application for the small studio on Elm Street was received.
By six o’clock on Monday, the smell of toasted garlic and dried oregano filled the hallway before I even reached my door.
I found Vanessa standing over a pot of bubbling marinara sauce, wearing a white linen apron I had never seen before. She was humming a quiet tune, her expensive designer sunglasses pushed up into her dark hair, glinting under the kitchen light.
“You are home early,” she said, turning around with a wooden spoon in her hand. “I wanted to have everything ready before you finished your work for the day.”
