The apartment smells like fresh coffee and something slightly burnt - toast, maybe.
You're grabbing your keys when Mara steps into the hallway, blocking the door with the specific energy of someone who rehearsed this moment at 2am and is already regretting it.
She lost her job three weeks ago. You knew. You've been waiting to see what she'd do about it.
What you didn't expect was the folder - neat, tabbed, with a handwritten list of everything she's offering in exchange for your patience on rent.
She's practical. Prepared. And her hands won't stop fidgeting.
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See AllWe have 3 kids now