“Eviction notice. You have 30 days.” Mr. Johnson’s cold words slam into me, the weight of them heavy in my trembling hands. My world unravels right there, pancake batter forgotten on the kitchen floor, and the clock starts ticking on a future I can no longer see.
But what started as desperation soon revealed something darker—whispers of luxury condos, mass evictions, and a landlord pulling the strings of corruption from behind his safe, corporate facade.
With nothing left to lose and a community of voices rising behind me, I knew one thing: we’d tear his empire down, and take back what was ours.
Uprooted Without Warning: The Knock That Shattered Her World
I hear the sharp raps on my apartment door. One, two, three. My body freezes. The spatula in my hand feels heavy. Pancake batter drips onto the floor. Plop. Plop. Plop.
“Mommy, who is it?” Lily’s voice carries from the living room. SpongeBob’s laugh echoes in the background.
My heart’s pounding. Thump. Thump. Thump. I open the door. Mr. Johnson’s there. His face is hard as stone. He shoves an envelope at me.
“Eviction notice. You have 30 days.” His voice is like ice.
My brain’s spinning. “But… why? I’ve always paid on time!”
He just shrugs. Doesn’t even look me in the eye. “Business decision. Nothing personal.”
The envelope’s shaking in my hands. I rip it open. Words jump out at me. “Termination of tenancy.” “Vacate premises.” My stomach drops.
Thirty days. Four weeks. One month. That’s all I’ve got to pack up our lives.
Lily’s suddenly next to me. Her little hand tugs my shirt. “Mommy, are the pancakes ready?”
I plaster on a smile. It feels fake. Wrong. Everything’s falling apart. But I say, “Soon, sweetie. Soon.”
The cartoons are still playing. The batter’s still dripping. But nothing’s the same. Not anymore.
I look at the notice again. The words blur. Tears? Maybe. I blink them away.
Thirty days. Where will we go? What will we do? The questions swirl in my head. No answers come.
Lily’s still waiting. For pancakes. For normalcy. I’ve gotta be strong. For her.
I close the door. Take a deep breath. The smell of burnt batter hits me. Great. Just great.
One step at a time, Sarah. One step at a time. That’s what Mom would say. If she were still here.
I turn back to the kitchen. To Lily. To our last month in the only home she’s ever known.
Thirty days. The clock’s ticking. And I’ve got no idea what comes next.
Drowning in Despair
Night falls. The darkness is heavy. Suffocating. Sleep? Fat chance. My brain won’t shut up.
Where will we go? The questions pound like a jackhammer. How will I afford a new place? Rent’s insane these days.
Lily’s soft snores drift through the thin walls. Lucky kid. Blissfully unaware. I envy her peace.
The clock on my nightstand mocks me. 2:37 AM glows in angry red. Another night of tossing and turning.
My phone’s in my hand before I realize it. I need to hear a friendly voice. Someone who gets it. Kelly.
One ring. Two. Three. “Sarah? What’s wrong?” Kelly sounds like she’s underwater. Or maybe that’s just me, drowning in my own thoughts.
The dam breaks. Tears flow hot and fast. I spill it all. The knock. The notice. The unknown future looming like a storm cloud.
Kelly listens. She always does. “Oh, honey,” she says. “It’ll be okay.” But will it? Really?
The sky outside my window lightens. Another sleepless night in the books. My eyes feel like sandpaper.
Lily’s alarm goes off. 7:00 AM. Cartoon theme songs blare through the apartment. How is she so chipper?
I drag myself to the kitchen. Coffee. I need coffee. The machine gurgles to life. Thank God for small mercies.
The fridge is covered in Lily’s drawings. Our little family. Stick figures in front of a house. My heart clenches.
Toast pops up, startling me. I jump. Coffee sloshes over my hand. “Shit!” The word escapes before I can stop it.
“Mommy said a bad word!” Lily giggles from the doorway. Her hair’s a rat’s nest. Her smile’s pure sunshine.
I force a laugh. “Sorry, sweetie. Mommy’s just clumsy.” If only she knew. If only I knew what to tell her.
The TV drones in the background. Some talking head yakking about the housing market. I want to throw something at the screen.
Lily chomps her cereal. Milk dribbles down her chin. “Can we go to the park later?” she asks. So normal. So everyday.
“We’ll see,” I say. It’s noncommittal. Safe. Unlike everything else in our lives right now.
The clock ticks on. 29 days left. The weight of it all settles on my shoulders. How am I gonna do this?
One day at a time, Sarah. That’s all you can do. One. Day. At. A. Time.
The Merciless Countdown
The office hums with activity. Phones ringing. Keyboards clacking. Printers whirring. I’m here, but I’m not.
“Earth to Sarah!” My boss’s voice slices through my thoughts. Sharp. Impatient. “The Johnson file? Today?”
I nod. Plaster on a fake smile. “Of course. Right away.” My voice sounds strange. Far away.
The clock crawls towards noon. Lunchtime. Finally. I pull out my phone. Open Zillow. Scroll. And scroll.
Too expensive. $2000 for a closet? No way. Bad neighborhood. Sirens in the background of the video tour. No pets allowed. What about Mr. Whiskers?
My sandwich sits untouched. Mayo oozing out the sides. My stomach’s in knots.
The afternoon stretches like taffy. Slow. Endless. I’m on the phone more than I’m working.
“Sorry, we need first and last month’s rent plus security deposit.” That’s $4500. Might as well ask for my kidney.
“No, we don’t accept Section 8.” Of course not. Why make it easy?
“A single mother? Hmm, that might be a problem.” Yeah, buddy. You’re telling me.
Each “no” feels like a punch to the gut. Hope? What’s that? Never heard of it.
The clock on my desk mocks me. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 28 days left.
My coworker, Jen, stops by my desk. “Wanna grab drinks after work?” She’s smiling. Carefree.
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