When the time finally arrives to discuss the kitchen, my words are careful.
I mention the drip, the plumber’s warning.
The landlord listens, nods, but their expression reveals little.
A decision hangs in the air, unspoken.
It’s a moment that feels both fleeting and eternal.
The weight of potential outcomes presses down.
In this moment, the future of my home, of my routine, feels precariously balanced.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered.
