“I want the place cleaned up before I move in.”
My heart dropped. “Dina, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“I’m your niece.”
“Correction,” she said, stepping past me like she owned the floor.
“I’m your landlord. And I want you out.”
I tried to plead. I told her I could find a job, help with the bills, or anything else.
She just rolled her eyes and flopped down on the couch. “Can you move? You’re blocking the TV.”
So I packed.
I didn’t sleep that night. Just moved slowly through the house, folding clothes into suitcases and wrapping photo frames in towels. Every corner of that place held a memory: Dad teaching me to ride my bike in the backyard, Mom dancing with me in the kitchen, birthday parties with homemade cake, and the smell of cinnamon in the air.Continue reading…
