Tomorrow, the landlord is coming over for a routine inspection, and I dread it. Mark promised to clean, but knowing how he operates, he probably ignored it.
I’m bracing for the inevitable awkwardness when the landlord points out the mess or something broken. I’m also avoiding another showdown with Mark, who I can tell is just waiting for me to pick a fight or complain.
Meanwhile, I keep glancing at that stubborn little drawer—the one thing I thought might be harmless but now feels like a symbol of everything I don’t understand and can’t control in this place.
And somehow, it’s about to get worse.
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