Chapter 3 - The Letter Marked Moved
Roland met me at a coffee shop two blocks from Tasha's office. Leo was with my neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez, who'd agreed to watch him for an hour while I worked out whether the past could be discussed without becoming another fight he had to hear.
I brought the returned envelope in a clear plastic folder.
Roland stared at the handwriting on the front. Mine was easy to recognize. I'd used blue ink and pressed too hard on the second line because the pen had begun to leak.
He turned it over.
"That's not my writing," he said.
"I know that now."
"The apartment was mine until the end of August. I left for the project in Seattle in June. My mother collected the mail."
I felt my throat tighten.
"You told me you were taking the assignment for eighteen months. You asked me to wait."
"I asked you to come."
"After you'd accepted it. Without asking what would happen to my job, my mother, or our apartment."
He pressed his lips together.
"You're right. I assumed you'd move because I thought we were building a life together."
"And when I said I needed time, you stopped answering."
"I called. Your number was disconnected."
My phone had been shut off after a hospital bill went to collections. I used the library computer to email him twice. Both messages bounced back with a notice that the address was no longer active. Roland said his company changed its email domain during the move, and he hadn't realized old mail might fail.
None of it made us villains. None of it excused the silence.
"Why didn't you come back to find me?" I asked.
He looked at the envelope again.
"My mother told me you'd moved in with someone else. She said you wanted me to stop calling. I believed her because I was angry and embarrassed. I told myself respecting your wishes meant staying away."
"Did you ask anyone besides her?"
"No."
I folded my hands on the table.
"I don't know what I thought would happen if I found you, Roland. I was scared and exhausted. But I know I put that letter under your door."
"I believe you."
He said it without hesitation, and the certainty nearly undid me.
I showed him the letter inside. The ink had faded in places. Halfway through was the sentence: I'm pregnant, and I think it's yours, but I won't use a child to make you stay.
Roland read it twice.
When he looked up, his eyes were wet.
"You should have heard from me," he said. "Even if we were finished, you should have heard from me."
"Leo should have had a chance to know you."
"I want that chance now, if it's right for him."
He offered to arrange a voluntary paternity test through an accredited provider so there would be no confusion about what we knew. I agreed. The timing and how to talk with Leo would be discussed with a family counselor first.
Then he asked about the eviction notice. I told him Daugherty was scheduled to seek possession at the end of the month, although Tasha believed the repair charges and retaliation issue could be challenged. I hadn't filed the clinic's response forms yet because I'd been picking up extra shifts.
"You have to file," Roland said.
"I know."
He paused. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do."
"Then don't. Help me find the deadline."
We called Tasha together. She told us what documents she needed, who would represent me, and which parts of Roland's engineering work could be provided without violating the terms of his contract. He promised to route requests through the agency instead of handing over confidential files.
That afternoon I submitted updated wage records to the housing office under the alternative verification process. Ms. Pratt, the clerk who'd rejected me, took the packet and stamped the receipt. She apologized for failing to explain the procedure.
It didn't give me a home. It gave me proof that my application was finally moving.
I almost felt hopeful until I returned to Alder Street.
A bright orange notice had been taped to my door.
It warned that access to the third floor would be restricted for emergency repairs beginning the following Monday. Residents were instructed to contact management about relocation arrangements.
The number led to Daugherty's voicemail.
"You wanted the city involved," his recorded message said. "Now you can see what happens when they get involved."
I stood in the hallway with my keys in one hand and Leo's school schedule in the other.
May you like
For the first time, the question wasn't whether we might be forced out someday.
It was where my son would sleep in six days.
