Emily's POV
The plate slipped from my wet hands the second the pounding started.
It shattered in the sink with a sharp crack, as broken ceramic clanged against the metal sink. Splashing cold dishwater up my shirt. I froze with soap bubbles sliding off my hands, while hearing the heavy footsteps coming down the hallway…slow, angry, impossible to ignore.
"Emily!"
The voice boomed through our apartment door. "I know you're in there!"
My stomach clenched. Mr. Grissom. Again.
The television hummed behind me…some old game shows my mother wasn't really watching. The bright, cheerful voices felt wrong in the tense air, like laughter during a funeral.
"Mommy?" Lily's small voice came from the doorway. "Who's that?"
I turned, forcing my face into something I hoped looked calm. Lily stood in her too-small school uniform, the hem hitting above her knees now, clutching Mr. Hops against her chest. She said nothing else…just watched me. Quiet. Measuring my face, the way a child shouldn't have to.
"Just someone looking for the wrong apartment, sweetheart."
Her brow pinched. "But…"
"Lily, baby, go to your room and finish your homework, okay?" My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "I'll call you when dinner's ready."
She hesitated, long enough that I saw the moment she chose to pretend. To make it easier for me. She nodded, disappearing down the hallway. Her door clicked shut like a soft apology. My daughter was learning to lie too.
I let out the breath I'd been holding.
The pounding started again. Harder this time.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"I've had enough of this!" Mr. Grissom's voice carried through the door, down the hallway, into every neighbor's apartment.
"Four months! FOUR MONTHS!"
Heat crawled up my neck. Mrs. Johnson's door stood ajar, she was listening. They all were.
My hand reached the doorknob before my mind accepted what I was about to do.
Maybe he'd accept a partial payment. Maybe I could promise him the rest by next week. Maybe...
I opened the door.
Mr. Grissom's face was blotchy red, his gray eyebrows drawn low. He looked tired beneath the anger… small bags under the eyes, a smudge of grease on his coat sleeve.
Behind him, I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Johnson's worried face before she disappeared back inside her apartment.
"Mr. Grissom, I'm so..."
"Sorry?" He barked out a laugh. "You think 'sorry' pays bills?"
"No, I just need..."
"Four months." He held up four fingers, jabbing them toward my face. "I've been coming here for four months, listening to your excuses.
"Just one more week, Mr. Grissom. My paycheck is coming. Things will get better soon."
"Well guess what? I'm done.''
I gripped the doorframe. The old paint flaked under my nails; the same doorframe I'd touched the day I sold my wedding ring to pay this man. Tom's watch six months later.
"Please, if you could just..."
"Just what? Give you more time?" His voice dropped, turned cold. "I have a family too, you know. A wife. Kids. Grandkids. You think I can let people live in my building for free because they've got sob stories?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
"You've got until the end of the month. Three weeks. You come up with every penny you owe me, or I file the papers. I'm sorry, Emily, but I've got bills too."
He turned and stormed down the hallway, his footsteps echoing long after he disappeared around the corner.
I stood in the doorway, unable to move. Unable to breathe. The game show was still playing in the living room. Mom was still sitting in her chair, staring at the screen like it held answers to questions she'd forgotten asking.
I closed the door quietly.
My legs gave out immediately.
I slid down to the floor, my back against the door, my hands pressed hard over my mouth as a sob tore loose anyway, tearing up from somewhere deep in my chest. I shook trying not to make a sound.
Three weeks.
Tom's eyes haunted me…that same blue I'd seen in the hospital five years ago when they told me he died instantly. As if that should comfort me. As if dying instantly meant he hadn't been scared or thought of us in those final seconds.
The life insurance barely covered the funeral. And suddenly I was drowning.
The caregiving jobs paid minimum wage. The hours were brutal. I'd sold everything that mattered…wedding ring, Tom's watch, even our TV. We were using Mom's old one now.
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
"Mommy?"
My head snapped up. Lily stood at the end of the hallway, her face pale, Mr. Hops dangling from one hand.
I scrambled to my feet, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "Lily! I thought you were doing your homework."
She walked toward me slowly. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying, baby. I just..."
"That man was really mad." Her voice was so small. "Is he going to make us leave?"
My heart cracked. I knelt down and held out my arms, and she ran into them, burying her face in my shoulder. Her small body trembled.
"No," I lied. "No, baby. Everything's going to be fine. Mommy's going to figure it out. I promise."
"But I heard him yelling."
"That's grown-up stuff." I pulled back to meet her eyes, forcing a smile. "You don't need to worry about that, okay? That's my job."
She nodded, but her eyes stayed worried.
"How about we make dinner?" I said, standing and taking her hand. "What do you want? Mac and cheese?"
"Okay," she said quietly.
From the living room, Mom's confused voice drifted in: "Emily? Is it time for dinner? Where's Tom?"
I closed my eyes. Not tonight. Please, not tonight.
"Tom's working late, Mom," I called back, because it was easier than explaining for the hundredth time. Easier than watching her cry for a son-in-law she'd loved and forgotten burying.
Lily looked up at me with those knowing eyes.
"Go wash your hands, sweetie."
---
Dinner was quiet. Lily pushed pasta around her plate. Mom ate mechanically, her gaze distant. I managed three bites before my stomach rebelled.
After, I tucked Lily into bed, pulling her faded comforter up to her chin.
"I love you, Mommy," she whispered.
"I love you too, baby." I kissed her forehead, breathing in the strawberry scent of her hair. "More than all the stars in the sky."
"Even more than mac and cheese?"
I laughed despite everything. "Even more than that."
After she fell asleep, I helped Mom to bed, changed her into her nightgown, settled her under the covers. She looked so small now. The Alzheimer's was eating her piece by piece, nothing like the strong woman who'd raised me alone after Dad died.
"Goodnight, Mom."
"Goodnight, dear." Her eyes were already closing. "Tell Tom I said hello."
I stood in the doorway, swallowing the sting behind my eyes before closing her door.
---
My phone rang just past midnight, startling me awake from the couch where I'd fallen asleep over unpaid bills.
Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Greene? This is Sandra from Dr. Landon's office." The nurse's voice was professionally sympathetic. "Your mother's medications are ready for pickup, but insurance didn't cover them. The total is three hundred and forty-seven dollars. Can you come by tomorrow?"
Three hundred and forty-seven dollars.
I didn't have three hundred and forty-seven dollars.
"Of course," I heard myself say. "First thing in the morning."
The lie came so easily now.
I sat on the couch for a long time after hanging up, staring at the pile of bills scattered across the coffee table, numbers swimming in and out of focus.
The apartment was silent except for the drip of the kitchen faucet I couldn't afford to fix and the distant sound of traffic outside.
I buried my face in my hands.
"Please," I whispered. "Please, just… something. A chance. A sign. I'm so tired. Please."
No answer came.
But somewhere in the city, someone had heard me.