Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
That was the number of my mother’s personal Visa card, the one she kept in her small leather card case.
I looked toward the closed guest room door, the yellow paper stiff in my fingers. Helen had paid for the very suitcases Vanessa had used to move into my apartment, a week before she even knocked on my door.
My mother had funded her grand entrance, planning the relocation behind my back while I was still working late nights at the agency.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, the screen displaying a message from my father.
He wanted me to come to the house for dinner on Wednesday evening to discuss the lease.
I folded the yellow receipt and slid it into my pocket, the paper small and heavy against my thigh.
The dining room in my parents’ brick house smelled of roasted chicken and lemon polish, the table set for three instead of four.
Vanessa had stayed behind at the apartment, claiming she had an online interview for a remote customer service position. My mother sat at the head of the table, her fingers tapping her heavy gold wedding ring against her phone screen with a sharp, rhythmic click.
