Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
She carried the stack of dishes into the kitchen, the water running in the sink a moment later.
I sat on the sofa, listening to the clatter of silverware against the ceramic basin, trying to find the catch in her sudden kindness. Vanessa had never washed a dish without a complaint in her entire life, usually leaving them to soak for days until I gave in.
Her phone, left face-up on the coffee table, buzzed once with a text message.
The preview on the screen showed only the sender’s name: Helen.
I did not reach for the phone, but I stared at the dark glass until it flickered off again, leaving only our reflections in the silence of the room.
“Is everything okay in there?” I called out toward the kitchen.
“Perfectly fine,” Vanessa called back, her voice echoing over the sound of splashing water. “Just putting things away.”
I leaned back against the cushions, the quiet in the apartment feeling less like peace and more like a breath held right before a storm.
