Chapter 8

Isabelle

I stood in front of the apartment door, my skin pale from a short hike from the main road into the street, under the scorching sun.

Just answer the door please.

A man opened it after what seemed like eternity. He was tall, with a face that said do-not-mess-with-me. His eyes raked over me as though I barged into his property.

"You here about the apartment?" he asked, in a lazy tone.

"Yes, I'm the one who called yesterday," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I'd like to see it."

He stepped aside without welcoming me inside. The apartment was small but clean. One bedroom, a living room that barely fit a couch, a kitchen you could touch both walls from if you stretched your arms. Well, great.

"It's cool," I said, looking around. My voice sounded fake even to me. "What's the rent?"

"Three thousand a month," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

"What? A three thousand? For a one-bedroom?" I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. I'm pretty sure I failed because my face reflected my exact emotions.

"That's the price. Market rate."

This had to be a joke. What kind of market rate was this?

"Sir, that's... that's too much. I was expecting something around—"

"That's the price. Want it or not?"

His tone meant there was no room for negotiation. I looked at the apartment again; at the small window that faced the street; the old kitchen, the torn carpet and shook my head. Even if I could afford this, I would never pay for it because it wasn't worth the amount.

"I'm sorry I can't afford this."

I turned towards the door and left.

Back at the guest house, I sat on the bed and pulled out my notebook. I'd been keeping record of every dollar since Adrian gave me the money. My eyes grew wide, my hands going cold as I looked at the numbers.

Seven hundred and fifty a month for the guest house and I had spent two months already. Everything added up so fast–food, transportation, medication, few clothes I purchased last month.

I did the math again, even though I already knew the answer. At this rate, it'd take maybe four more months before the money was exhausted. Plus my baby was due in seven months.

Tears slid down my cheeks without warning. I tried to blink them back, but they just kept pouring like rain drops. How had I gone from a rich wife to a pauper? One who had almost no hope of survival. What did I do to deserve what Jason did? Lila? That bitch who wrecked my life? When all I ever wanted for her was happiness.

Oh Isabelle. See where trust has landed you.

I wondered if I'd ever trust anyone again when the people I loved the most, broke me, leaving the shattered pieces to pierce what remained of me till I bled.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, angry at myself for crying over them. That version of me had to stay dead. They weren't worth my tears.

I grabbed my phone and started searching for apartments open for tenancy. My eyes were beginning to bleed from the pressure of staring at the screen for too long when I saw a house that caught my fancy.

I dialed the number there before I could talk myself out of it.

A man answered. "Yeah?"

"Hello. I'm calling about apartment for rent on Cedar Street," I said.

"You interested?"

"I am. Would it be possible to see it today?"

"Sure. If you'd come right away, 'cause I'm leaving."

"Don't leave please. Be there in a bit." I replied, anxiety rising within me.

Twenty minutes later, I alighted from a taxi and walked into the neighborhood. The surroundings were beautiful, lined with big trees that provided shade. The house was small but decent, painted a pale yellow. A man was sitting on the steps, scrolling through his phone. He was probably in his fifties, with a blank look etched on his face.

He looked up as I walked closer.

"You the one who called?" he asked, standing up.

"Yes, I'm Isabelle."

"Right. I'm Johann. Come on."

He unlocked the door and walked inside, with me following behind.

"One bedroom, one bathroom, kitchen," he said, breezing through the house. "No pets. No noise after ten. No loud guests."

"Okay," I said, trying to keep up with him.

"Seven hundred a month. Six months upfront payment."

I swallowed hard. Four thousand two hundred. That was almost a quarter of what Adrian had given me.

"All at once?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"That's how it works. You want it or not?"

What was it with these landlords? So inconsiderate.

I looked around the house. It was manageable and I didn't have much of a choice.

"When do I pay you?" I asked.

"Now. If you don't pay, I'm giving it out to the next person."

Tsk. Such crappy behaviour. My nose scrunched up before I could stop myself. I rubbed my nose immediately to hide my displeasure.

I pulled out my cash, my hands shaking as I counted out four thousand two hundred dollars and handed over to him. Tears were at the verge of pouring out as I painfully parted with such a large sum of money. But what other choice did I have?

He took the money without counting it. Just stuffed it in his pocket like it was common paper.

"You can move in tomorrow," he said. "You break anything, you pay for it. You miss a payment, you're out. Any questions?"

I had a thousand and one, but could he answer them?

"No, none," I said, my voice low.

He walked to the door and said, "Good. I'll email you the documents. Sign it and send it back. That's should be all. You're done."

As I walked out of the apartment, a wave of relief washed over me and I breathed in fresh air, savouring the moment of peace.

I placed my hand on my belly and whispered, "Well, at least we have a place of our own now."

A ping cut through the quiet neighborhood and my phone screen lit up with a message. My heart skipped as I read it.

"Good day Isabelle. Be here by 9am tomorrow."