Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
The pink folder was not there.
I pulled the drawer out further, the metal tracks squeaking in the quiet hallway.
I sorted through the folders again, slower this time, my fingers checking the space between every single tab.
My hand brushed against a small piece of paper stuck to the very back of the drawer.
It was a square yellow sticky note, the adhesive dry and peeling at the corners.
The handwriting on it was sharp and rapid, written in the black ink my mother always used.
I pulled it free and held it under the hallway light.
“I do not think your lease was as permanent as you wanted to believe,” the note read, signed with a single capital H.
I stared at the note, my thumb rubbing the smooth paper, trying to remember the last time my mother had been in my apartment alone.
She had a key, of course, which she said was only for emergencies.
Vanessa walked into the apartment a few minutes later, carrying a small boutique shopping bag.
