My Family Tried to Evict Me from the Craftsman House My Grandparents Left Me
I stood by the counter, waiting for the water to heat, watching the steam begin to rise from the spout.
My cell phone sat on the counter, its screen dark and quiet for the first time in weeks.
I had blocked my sister’s number, and my parents had stopped sending their hourly text messages.
The silence of the kitchen was different now, no longer filled with the expectation of another threat.
The kettle began to whisper, a low hum that grew into a clear, steady whistle.
I turned off the gas and poured the hot water into a ceramic mug, watching the tea bag darken the water.
I carried the mug into the living room and stood by the window, looking out at the street.
The sky was a deep, dark blue, the color of the Pacific right before a winter storm.
The first heavy drops of rain began to hit the glass, reflecting the streetlights from Elm Street.
