The afternoon sun casts long shadows across my apartment, the light filtering through the blinds in slivers. I collapse onto the couch, exhaustion settling into my bones.
The landlord’s visit is imminent, and I can feel the tension building within me.
I glance at the clock, each tick echoing in the silence of the room.
When the knock finally comes, it’s soft but insistent, a reminder of the confrontation I can’t avoid.
With a deep breath, I open the door, bracing myself for the conversation.
He stands there, a clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable.
“Afternoon,” he says, his tone neutral, but I can sense the underlying tension.
I nod, stepping aside to let him in, the unease settling in my stomach.
As he checks the pipes, I try to keep the conversation light, but the air is thick with unspoken words.
“About the rent,” he starts, and my heart skips a beat.
I brace myself for the worst, the fear of eviction looming large.
The conversation is tense, each word carefully chosen, but by the end, I’m left with more questions than answers.
As he leaves, I close the door, the weight of my situation pressing down on me once more.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered.
