Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
I sat on the hardwood floor with a rolls of packing tape still stuck to my wrist, looking at the thirty-four novels I had managed to salvage from my old living room shelves.
The space was smaller than my last apartment, but the walls were clean and did not belong to my family.
The silence in the room was a physical presence, heavy and uninterrupted by any footsteps from the hallway.
I pulled a thick green dictionary from the bottom of the box, wiping a thin layer of gray dust from the cover with the sleeve of my sweater.
Underneath the books lay the twelve-key metal lockbox, its dark gray finish scratched near the handle.
I set the lockbox on my knees and turned the small dial to thirty-four, listening to the tiny metallic click inside the mechanism.
When the latch popped open, the contents did not rattle.
Inside lay five different brass keys, each one attached to a small paper tag written in my own neat, factual handwriting.
