The weekend came, and with it, a sense of impending resolution. I found myself glancing at Bob’s door more often, wondering if he would manage to scrape together the rent or if the landlord would follow through on his threat.
Saturday morning, I saw Bob leaving the building, his steps hurried and purposeful.
I caught up to him outside, the air crisp and cool.
“Heading somewhere?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
He nodded, a determined set to his jaw.
“Got a lead on some work,” he explained. “Might help with… everything.”
I nodded, feeling a flicker of hope.
“Good luck,” I said sincerely.
“Thanks,” he replied, offering a small, genuine smile this time.
I watched him go, the sense of urgency in his stride giving me a cautious optimism.
Back inside, I busied myself with chores, trying to distract from the waiting.
By the time evening rolled around, there was still no sign of Bob, and I found myself anxiously pacing.
Finally, just as the streetlamps began to flicker to life, I heard footsteps on the stairs.
Bob appeared, looking exhausted but holding a small envelope.
“Did it,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and disbelief.
“That’s great,” I replied, genuinely glad.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “It’s not much, but it’s a start.”
I smiled, seeing a glimmer of the old Bob in his eyes.
As he headed to his apartment, I felt a weight lift slightly, the sense of looming disaster easing just a bit.
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