So when he offered to take care of paying the rent each month, I didn’t question it.
He said he passed the rental office daily on his way to work.
“Let me handle it, Grandma,” he told me gently.
And I believed him.
Month after month, I handed him the envelope of cash.
Month after month, I felt relieved that I no longer had to worry about paperwork or stairs.
My trust never wavered.
Until the day someone knocked on my door.
That Tuesday afternoon, I was expecting Daniel.
Instead, I opened the door to find my landlord standing there, clipboard in hand, his expression serious.
He told me I was several months behind on rent and that eviction was imminent.
My heart nearly stopped.
I insisted there had to be a mistake.
When he explained that no payments had been received in six months, the room seemed to spin.
Six months.
Six envelopes.
Six betrayals.
