“Four hundred dollars?” I repeated carefully, trying to process the number. That was more than a third of my total income.
“You’re using our water, our electricity, our space,” she said with a bright, brittle smile. “Four hundred is more than reasonable.”
I had nowhere else to go. No other options. No savings left.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “I understand.”
“Perfect. First payment is due Monday.” She turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and please keep your equipment in your room—the nebulizer, the oxygen concentrator if you get one, all of that. It’s a bit depressing to look at in the common areas.”
Her heels clicked down the hallway, leaving me alone in the cold, perfect room.
The first month, I tried to make myself useful while also making myself invisible—an impossible balance that left me exhausted and anxious. I cooked dinner three nights a week. I cleaned bathrooms that already looked spotless. I did their laundry. I vacuumed floors that didn’t need vacuuming.
