Chapter 11 - The Tenant Next Door
The crisp chill of late November settled over the city, turning the breath of morning commuters into plumes of white smoke. I was sipping my morning coffee at our Newport estate when my phone flashed with an automated alert from a residential real estate portal I still monitored for my parents.
A small, one-bedroom apartment downtown had just been listed for rent.
The contact number attached to the application preview wasn't my father’s, nor was it a corporate leasing agent’s. It was Laya’s cell number, paired with a co-signer request listing a distant aunt who hadn't spoken to our family since my high school graduation.
She had finally moved out of her friend’s cramped futon. She was working a forty-hour-a-week register job at a local department store, earning minimum wage plus commission.
For the first time in her twenty-four years of life, Laya was staring at utility bills, grocery receipts, and a fixed rent payment that couldn't be solved by a midnight phone call to an older sister.
Daniel walked into the kitchen, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed the top of my head.
"Everything alright?" he asked, noticing the contemplative look in my eyes.
"She’s renting a place three blocks from the old neighborhood," I said, setting my mug down. "No roommates. No safety net. She's actually doing it."
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"People change when they run out of other people's money," Daniel murmured, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "How are your parents handling the silence?"
"Quietly," I replied. "Dad told me yesterday they haven't heard from her in ten days. No angry texts, no emergency calls. Just an eerie, heavy quiet. But for the first time in his life, Dad's blood pressure is normal."
