Chapter one
“What do you mean, you’reevictingus?”
I cradled my phone between my shoulder and my jaw, shifting my son Henry higher on my hip. His little body was hotter than it should’ve been as he nestled closer, his limp limbs making him feel heavier than he was.
“I am sorry, Ms. Dupont,” the man on the other line replied. “With my client’s passing, we have evaluated all his properties, and the one you are living is not even worth the upkeep.”
I moved the phone to my other ear, hoping I’d misheard. “But—”
“Mama,” Henry whimpered, patting my cheek, “my throat hurts.”
“As Mr. Proffitt’s attorney,” the man continued, his voice bland, unconcerned, “I have been asked to advise in the disposition of his less valuable assets as his son is far too busy to handle it himself. Unfortunately, your location was never a desirable neighborhood and is getting worse, so I must sell the property before it is a total loss. Please understand—this is purely a business decision. You are no different from than any of the others being disposed of.”
I hugged Henry a little closer, squeezing my eyes shut to rein in my rising panic. “Mr. Briggs, your client and I had an understanding. He lowered my rent until I could get back on my feet. I understand you’re trying to do your job, but I just need a little more time—”
“Mama…”
“Shh, shh, baby,” I consoled, tears blurring my view of his sweet face, flushed with fever. “I know. We’re going to the doctor.”
“I really am sorry, Ms. Dupont,” Mr. Briggs told me, sounding almost sincere. “If there was another way…”
“Thereisanother way!” I snapped. “You could honor Mr. Proffitt’s promises.”
“Ms. Dupont—”
“Where am I supposed to go?” I choked out, trying to keep the tears out of my voice and failing. “I work in a coffee shop making barely enough to pay what I already do. My five-year-old son is sick—I don’t even know how I’m going to pay for a doctor’s visit or any medicine he needs because my job’s insurance sucks. And now you’re kicking meout?”
Henry was crying quietly now, snuggling close to my chest. “Mama…”
Hopelessness squeezed my heart. My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, cradling Henry in my arms, no longer pretending to hold back the tears. “I’m sorry, Mr. Briggs. I can’t do this right now.”
Not waiting for a response, I hung up and tossed my phone aside, then pressed my forehead into the heel of my palm, sobbing silently so I wouldn’t upset Henry.
What the hell was I supposed to do? I’d vowed—swornto myself—I’d never again be without a roof over my head, never let Henry feel the same gnawing fear and uncertainty I’d known as a child as my mother dragged us from shelters to friends’ couches to shitty apartments that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and unrealized dreams. We’d never stayed in one place long enough to feel secure or know what it was like to have an actualhome—or even understand what that word truly meant.
A few weeks after finding out I was pregnant with Henry, I’d moved into the little house—really just a one-bedroom box with thin walls that rattled when the wind blew—thanks to the kind old man who’d been a regular at the coffee shop. Montgomery Proffitt (or Mr. Monty as I called him) had been there for me ever since. He’d lowered my rent when the pandemic shut everything down, helped me with utilities when what little money I’d saved ran out, pushed me to finish my degree, even helped me find scholarships and grants to make it possible.
Mr. Monty had been my guardian angel.
And now he was gone.
A massive heart attack had taken him two months ago, according to Mr. Briggs when he’d first contacted me. I hadn’t even known until after the funeral, so I never had the chance to say goodbye, no chance to thank his family for all he’d done. Since getting the news, I’d not only grieved for one of the few people who’d ever treated me with kindness and dignity, but I’d also lived in fear that his family wouldn’t be as compassionate.
Turns out I’d been right to worry.
I sniffed and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand then shifted my now-sleeping son on my lap. “Okay. Okay,” I murmured, squaring my shoulders, mind racing.
I’d figure something out. I always did. When my mom had kicked me out for being pregnant with Henry, I’d felt the same hopelessness. I’d dropped out of college with only a year left, but I’d found a job, a place to live at least—even if it wasn’t much. I had survived then. I would survive now. We’d be okay, I told myself so emphatically I almost believed it.
My phone buzzed on the floorboards, the vibration traveling through the wood and up into my bones. I reached automatically for the device, but hesitated, my hand hovering inches away, not sure if I should answer, but at the same time knowing I had to. A chill rippled through me when I picked it up.
“Ms. Dupont?” asked a male voice I didn’t recognize and yet was somehow vaguely familiar.
I cleared my throat, shaking off whatever had come over me. “Yes? Who’s this?”
Before he could answer, a burst of pain flared behind my eyes only to immediately dull to a persistent throbbing.
Damn it. What the hell?
