Page 1

1

It’s the best day of my life.

I might have said that before a few times, and might have thought I meant it.

This time is the real deal.

I have been living in the same apartment since my divorce was finalized almost five years ago. My six year old daughter has lived half of her life in this apartment with me, and the other half at her dad’s house. Both places have their flaws, his being thatheis there.

The problem with my apartment started about two years ago, when a couple of freshly eighteen year old boys moved in next door.

Sleeping through the night has not been something I’m very familiar with since that first day.

Neither has Dahlia, my poor, sweet child. At least not in her own bedroom, which shares a wall with the neighbors. So it’s been the two of us in my bed. She sleeps better than I do, livingin blissful ignorance of the problem. It’s like the muffled sounds would reach my ears because Iknewthey were there.

They’re gamers. Gamers shouta lot.

And always at two in the morning.

Today, a couple of moving trucks were parked on the curb. One of them was actually blocking my car in, preventing me from heading to work on time. It felt like a sign that I was meant to stay put, so that’s exactly what I did.

I think the last time I pretended to be sick was at least a year ago, so it’s not like I’m abusing the option.

I spend my day going back and forth between watching true crime documentaries, and watching from my front window as the two of them and their families head up and down the stairs with their arms full.

I watch them hug goodbye and go their separate ways.

They grow up so fast.

Thankfully.

I am so glad they’re gone. I am so ready to sprawl out on my bed without worrying that I’ll accidentally punch my daughter in the face while I sleep. I’m ready for her to get used to her own bed again. We had been doing so good before they happened, she almost always made it through the night.

I’m not foolish enough to think this will be the easiest adjustment, but it’s still exciting to start. I sincerely hope whoever moves in next has some empathy for a single mother, and doesn’tplay video games with loud gun sound effects.

We can’t move. We get such a deal on our rent.

Sweet Ted, the landlord. He’s the type that seems grumpy and closed off, but he’s got a great heart once you get to know him. He’s quick to take care of any problems, and knows a guy for everything. We’ve never had a problem lasting more than a couple of days because if he can’t get someone to come downin a timely manner, he does it himself. I’m guessing he was a plumber in his youth, but I have no confirmation on that.

Also… he doesn’t let me pay rent in the month of December. It’s the most generous anyone’s ever been to us, we literallycan’t ever move. We’re too spoiled.

There’s a knock on the door that interrupts my thoughts. I know without checking that it’s drop-off time. Caleb has been surprisingly on time for the last few weeks, which I will not be questioning. It’s been nice to have Dahlia here before the sun goes down.

“There’s my princess!” I greet her cheerfully as I open the door.

I really do miss her when she’s gone. Our apartment is too quiet. I get bored. The three days go by so slowly.

“Mommy! We got you flowers!” She holds out some pink roses excitedly, waving them in front of me.

Of course he would let her go picking flowers from some stranger’s yard, and he wouldn’t think about thorns poking her fingers.

“Careful honey, those stems can hurt.” I give him a pointed look, the first one he’s received since I opened the door.

He has a few more in his own hands. I ignore them.

I go back to my daughter and accept the rose, careful not to let it slide in her grip. The last thing I want is to make her cry the second she gets home. I still have to feed her dinner, and start the long process of getting her to sleep in her own bed. It’s going to be a long night.

I hold up the flower to examine it, and… it looks like the thorns were scraped off.