Chapter 2

The third call connected, but Sophie's contractor boyfriend, Mark Evans, answered instead.

Mark warned, "Emily Carter, just stop already. Sophie was awake all night because of you, and Max was scared to tears. Call again and I'll report you for harassment."

"I'm harassing her?" My voice was shaking, but I forced it down. "That's my apartment. How is calling the person living in my apartment harassment?"

Mark let out a cold laugh, the sound piercing through the phone like a needle in my eardrum. "Your apartment?

"Emily, be honest. Sophie has lived there for over a year. She paid the utilities and management fees, funded the renovations, and even arranged the lawn care. Other than having your name on the deed, what have you done?"

"My name on the deed is what makes me the legal owner," I replied.

"Save the legal talk for court. Sophie already hired a lawyer. Keep making trouble, and we'll see you there." Click. He hung up.

I sat on the bed clutching my phone. At four in the morning, the room was so quiet it felt like a coffin. Streetlight seeped through the gap in the curtains, throwing a pale strip of light across the floor.

I suddenly remembered the early morning last March when Sophie moved in. It had been just like this.

She had stood in the doorway, holding her sleeping son, her eyes red as she thanked me.

Back then, I believed I had done the right thing.

Only now did I understand that sometimes the right thing could push you into the deepest trap.

I didn't go to work that morning. I took the day off and went to Unit 2202.

I wanted to confront her in person.

At the gate, the security guard no longer greeted me politely. He looked me over with the wary suspicion reserved for a thief.

I walked to Building 3 and pressed the elevator button.

An older woman from the eighteenth floor was already inside. We used to nod and smile when we met. Today, she stepped back and held her grocery cart in front of her like a shield.

The woman asked, "Are you Emily Carter from Unit 2202?"

"Yes," I replied.

She looked me up and down and muttered something under her breath. I couldn't make it out, but judging by her expression, it was nothing nice.

At the twenty-second floor, she held the elevator and called after me, "Young lady, cut them some slack. That single mom and her child have it hard enough. Why push them?"

The elevator doors slid shut.

I stood in the hallway and took a deep breath.

The door to Unit 2202 was closed, and the old lock had been replaced with a black smart lock fitted with a camera. A little bunny charm hung from the handle.

I rang the doorbell. No one answered. I rang again. I heard footsteps inside, and then the door opened.

Sophie stood in the doorway, wearing cream-colored loungewear, her hair held up with a claw clip and her face completely bare. She looked genuinely haggard—dark circles under her eyes, chapped lips, as though she hadn't slept all night.

But her eyes did not match her exhausted face. They were clear, calm, and faintly appraising, like a hunter studying prey already caught in a trap.

"Emily." She said my name softly, with the perfect tremble in her voice. Not enough to make it sound fake. Just enough to make her sound scared.

"Sophie, did you see what was posted in the group chat?" I tried to keep my tone even. "They said I've been harassing you. What is that supposed to mean?"

She lowered her head, then looked up with reddened eyes. Sophie whispered, "Emily, I'm sorry. I know this is unfair, but I really have no choice."

"No choice about what? What are you even talking about?"

"I—" She bit her lip. "My boyfriend said if we didn't do this, you'd never agree to sell us the apartment. He said the only way was to make a big enough scene that you'd finally give in."

"Sell it to you?" I froze. "When did I ever say I was selling this apartment?"

Tears streamed down Sophie's cheeks and onto her collar. "Emily, I want this place. Max spent a year at preschool here, made friends, and loves it. My boyfriend says we can afford it, but you refused. We really had no other choice."

"Sophie, I never said I was selling this apartment. It's my parents' retirement home. I only lent you the place; I never offered to sell it. They're moving in now, and I told you that three months ago."

After hearing that, she cried even harder. Her shoulders shook as she leaned against the doorframe, looking ready to collapse at any moment.

"I know it was only a loan, but after more than a year this feels like home. Emily, please sell it to me. I'll pay market price, every cent."

"Sophie, this isn't about money."

"Then what's the problem?" she demanded, suddenly looking up with a sharp edge in her voice I'd never heard before.

But it lasted only a fraction of a second before she suppressed it, slipping back into a wounded, tearful tone.

"Do you look down on me because you think I can't afford it? My boyfriend said he can get a mortgage—"

"Sophie!" I raised my voice—not in anger, but because she wasn't listening to a word I said.

I continued, "I'm not selling the apartment. Did you hear me? I'm not selling. You can stay here temporarily, but it's my apartment, and I won't sell it."

She looked at me, tears still on her face, but her gaze shifted subtly for an instant. Then she looked away and wiped her tears. "Okay, I understand. Sorry, Emily. I shouldn't have asked. Come sit inside. Max keeps asking about you," she said.